Hermione Granger and the Boys Who Lived
by Gabi-hime
Summary: On the night of October 31, 1981, there were two Boys Who Lived. Join Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood as they try to unravel the mystery behind Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom, two boys who insist they just 'grew up in the country together.' Total series rewrite beginning in 1991, Hermione Granger's first year at Hogwarts. HG x HP, NL x LL.
1. Prologue: Mysterious Goings-on

**Hermione Granger and the Boys Who Lived**

_A Harry Potter Reimagining_

_Harry Potter x Hermione Granger; Neville Longbottom x Luna Lovegood_

**_By Gabihime at gmail dot com_**

_Prologue: Being a Scene Involving Some Mysterious Goings-on_

* * *

_Exspecta __inexspectata__._

* * *

It was just midnight in Diagon Alley before the narrow, shabby storefront of _Ollivanders__: __Makers __of __Fine __Wands __since__ 382 __B__.__C__. _when there came the low, repeated sound of gentle popping, as if a slowly boiling pot was lugubriously giving up gulps of oxygen to the atmosphere. Four hooded figures had appeared there suddenly, as if from the thin air. The tallest looked around them sharply, apparently wary that their arrival had been seen, while the other three figures stood together, one with arms around the shoulders of the other two.

The tallest produced what seemed to be a long, spiny stick from the inside of his enveloping cloak and tapped the doorknob of the dark shop door with it while he muttered something lowly and quietly. There was a soft clicking sound as the pins in the lock turned, and he deftly opened the door, ushering the three other figures through it and pulling it closed behind him.

He stood by the door, sidled up against the wall so he could not be seen easily, and anxiously peered through the shop window, apparently looking for any signs of pursuit.

"I don't think we were seen," he spoke softly to the three behind him, his voice quiet and measured. He glanced over his shoulder at them briefly, as if reassuring himself that they were safe, and the middle figure in the group nodded at him before he returned his attention to the mostly empty street outside the window.

When one took a better look at the three robed figures that stood in the center of the small space walled and gridded by tall shelves bearing piles and piles of neatly labeled, narrow boxes, one realized that they were most certainly a group of children. The tallest of the group, the one who had nodded at the figure by the door, stood somewhere between four feet and five feet. The other two robed individuals were even shorter than the central figure, and much closer to four feet than to five.

After the nod to the man who stood guard by the door, the tallest child fished into her pockets and produced a handful of soil that she threw upon the dusty floor at her feet. She also produced a slender stick from her interior pockets, although its length was much shorter than the taller man's stick, being barely the length of a common pencil.

She began to speak, slowly and softly, her voice lilting in a singsong way as she did so and the soil at her feet squirmed across the floor as if given life, turning itself into a circle figured with strange arabesques and odd looking numerals and ideograms. As the circle in the dust lit up with a faint glow, her pale, bare feet were revealed in the gloom. Then the circle seemed to sink into the plank wood floor and a brief flicker of light traveled across the surface of everything in the small shop, like a an electric current traveling through a circuit.

Then, as if satisfied with her work, she held up the pencil-stick and in a low, dulcet voice called out, "Lumos!"

The light that flickered on at the tip of her pencil was warm and golden, like a candle flame, although it gave off light more like a small pocket torch. As the room swam into warmer illumination than merely the flickering streetlights outside, a slender gentleman sitting perfectly still on a high stool was revealed to the four of them.

"Ah," he also spoke softly, but this seemed as if it was an element of his nature, rather than assistance offered to their conspiracy. "I had expected I would be seeing you two soon enough."

He was looking intently at the two smaller figures in their enveloping hooded robes with large luminous eyes, which seemed as bright as the moon in the light from the wand. Although they were all four hooded, now that the wand was lit, all their faces were plain to the man on the stool, as they had not worn masks or scarves or mufflers.

"Mr. Ollivander," came the low voice from the door, as the man there looked briefly back at them, "I would request that you do not call us by name while we are here or after we have gone."

The girl who had littered his floor with even more dust than was usually piled in the corners smiled perhaps a little uneasily and added, "You can never tell who might be listening."

The man on the stool thought about it, and then nodded. "Very well," he said. "I can't begin to wonder on the meaning behind this little arrangement," he paused and thought about it, "I suppose I can, can't I? I can wonder quite a great deal based on what I've seen this evening."

"You can wonder all you want, Mr. Ollivander," the girl agreed quite pleasantly. "But I would prefer it if you kept your wonderings to yourself. Just for a while, you know, just until - "

"You needn't worry yourself, Miss Yew, Five and a half," the wandmaker interrupted, getting to his feet and fishing a tape measure out of the pockets of his robes. "I have kept greater secrets than yours." He paused before the two boys, as if considering. "Besides," he said at last, "One of the greatest pleasures in life is simply watching, to see how things turn out."

* * *

**Author****'****s ****Note****: **While I am likely to write some proper notes along the way - when I have something important or useful to say - generally I will dispense with them, as I think they break up the flow of the story. If only ff net had a spoiler tag I could hide them in, I would be much more like to wax excessively. Anyway, I hope you'll all enjoy this story and leave your thoughts and your likes in the comment box or by following it. I really have no way of telling who's reading what otherwise.


	2. Lesson One: Some Things on a Train

**Hermione Granger and the Boys Who Lived**

_A Harry Potter Reimagining_

_Harry Potter x Hermione Granger; Neville Longbottom x Luna Lovegood_

**_By Gabihime at gmail dot com_**

_Lesson One: Being Some Things That Happened On A Train_

* * *

If there was ever a girl cursed by fate into unfortunate and undeserved circumstances, then Hermione Granger would have believed herself that person, had she herself believed at all in the idea of being cursed by fate. Naturally, at this point she was willing to keep an open mind about a number of subjects, having recently discovered hundreds and hundreds of new and apparently objectively true facts about the world she lived in that she had never before suspected, but on the topic of fate she remained stubbornly resolute.

There was no such thing as fate, as kismet, as predestination. Destiny, she was willing to entertain, provided it offered some options as to how it played out, as opposed to one set path. In the world she had come from, it was ultimately all just an exercise in semantics, but in this new wizarding world, Hermione Granger had discovered that 'Fate' and 'Destiny' had precise and divergently different definitions, and this had pleased her, because she was entirely unwilling to negotiate on this one point: that everyone was perfectly capable of doing whatever it is they wanted with their lives, no matter what was written in the stars. On this single issue, she was quite sure of herself.

So she refused to believe in fate. She did, however, believe in curses, as she had read about them in several of her school books while preparing for the term. But based on her short experiences within the world of magic and all available knowledge on the subject, weighing all things equally in her mind, she did not think someone had cursed her.

Not unless, of course, you counted the curse of her own nervousness, which had caused her to drink no less than seven cups of tea before eleven o'clock in the morning.

As she had arrived quite a bit before the departure time listed on her welcome letter, she had been one of the first to secure her trunk in the baggage area, smartly kiss her mother and father goodbye, and spring aboard the scarlet Hogwarts Express, determined to get a good seat, make a fresh, clean start of things, and hopefully, _hopefully _make some new friends. The reason she had wanted to be aboard the train so early was not just because she was a punctual girl. It was not only because her heart was hammering with excitement at the prospect of going to a mysterious and magical new school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, instead of St. Asenath's School for Girls. The greatest reason Hermione Granger wished to be on the train early was because that way she could be the first in a compartment, settle her things properly, and then be ready to smile pleasantly when someone else asked if they might sit with her on the way to Hogwarts. She would say, "Oh, I'd like that!" when the other girl asked to sit down, and then they would talk a little and it would turn out that she had read all the textbooks ahead of time too, only perhaps not quite so many times as Hermione, and then they would laugh and share what was in their tucker boxes with one another, and resolve to be best friends from then on. Hermione had practiced smiling naturally and looking like someone who had absolutely loads and loads of friends, so she thought it might go all right if everything was set up properly.

Hermione had never gone away to school before, being only eleven, although before she had gotten the letter inviting her to Hogwarts she had been planning to go away to St. Asenath's for the autumn term anyway. It wasn't as if Hermione had done poorly at primary school. She had actually done quite splendidly and carried off all sorts of honors, excepting one that she had had quite a lot of difficulty with.

She could not make friends.

It wasn't as if she didn't try. She tried everything she could think of. She was well-mannered. She tried her best to control her temper and be pleasant. She tried to be friendly with the other girls and talk about the things she liked with them, but no matter what she did, nothing seemed to work. It wasn't as if she was really despised, although every once in awhile there were unpleasant incidents where her things were hidden and later recovered from unlikely places, like rubbish bins, but she had a reputation for being an apple-polishing know-it-all with a sassy disposition and a short temper. Being by nature stubborn, she was generally unwilling to change her personality in an attempt to make friends, so she often sat alone during group discussions, ate alone during lunch, and walked alone after school to the bookstore or the library, where she bought or borrowed books alone and took them home to read them alone.

Because she was stubborn, she was unwilling to let other people know that her friendlessness bothered her. That, she thought, would be like _letting __them __win__._ She never stopped to consider who it was that would be winning what, but the thought itself kept her on course. Still, she was willing to allow people to believe that she considered her lack of friends a logical problem that could be solved with enough forethought and planning. This was how she had couched the problem when she had approached her parents, and how she had come to expect to attend St. Asenath's School for Girl's when the fall term began.

And so, knowing she was going to be going by train to a new school where she would meet an entirely new student body full of studious girls, Hermione had resolved to do some research, so she knew what to expect and how to behave. Quite reasonably she had bought or borrowed approximately two dozen books on boarding schools and girl's schools and read them all in the first two weeks of the summer holiday. This was research on how one ought to behave when meeting new schoolmates for the first time on a train bound for your new school.

It wasn't as if she considered the books infallible or even necessarily pertinent to the approaching situation, as several of the books had been written as much as forty years previous, but some information, even if it was a bit suspect, was better than no information at all.

When the Hogwarts letter had turned up over the summer, she found she had even more to prepare for, and was glad she had done her research and reading concerning train rides to boarding schools earlier in the summer, so she had ample time to read her newly acquired magical textbooks. Being that she came from what individuals in the wizarding world called a "muggle family" she had to learn all sorts of things besides the things in her new textbooks, things like the monetary system, the system of government, forms of polite address in the wizarding world, and the state of wizard politics and current events. She had to build herself a complete picture of this new world, otherwise she would not be able to be a responsible citizen.

So she had read quite a lot of books, subscribed to two newspapers, one of which turned out to be filled with a lot of very strange rubbish, and discussed her findings with her parents, both of whom were very attentive and offered a lot of insightful commentary

Hermione Granger had prepared. She was ready to talk about nearly anything under the sun in an intelligent and thoughtful manner. She had practiced smiling, and she had helped her mother carefully pack a tucker box that might entice new friends with its contents.

But because she had been nervous, she had drunk seven cups of tea - three at breakfast, and four more while waiting for the train to arrive at Platform 9¾. Therefore while she had been one of the first ones on the train, she had not been able to stake claim on a train compartment in quite the way she had hoped.

Her bladder was not prepared.

After hurriedly dumping her carried items into an empty compartment, she spent the first twelve minutes after getting onto the train first hunting for the bathroom, then using the bathroom, and then finally trying to figure out how to get the magical toilet to properly flush. It was not something that had been covered in any of the books she had read. In the end, the fluids in the toilet bowl had simply vanished in a swirl of electric blue and the fresh scent of a field of peonies. As the toilet bowl filled up again in a flash of clean water from some other location, Hermione could not help but wonder where the waste fluid had gone. She hoped it was some place sanitary.

_Someone __ought __to __make __a __guide __for __students __like __me__,_ she thought to herself as she washed her hands in the old-fashioned sink, which fortunately appeared to work generally like the sort of sink she was accustomed to. _Maybe __by __the __end __of __the __term __I__'__ll __have __learned __enough __to __write __one __over __the __summer __holidays__._

While she pondered the idea of becoming an author, she found she had to sidestep students in the central corridor of the train car, as by now those who were Hogwarts-bound were piling in. She went back to the compartment where she had left her things and was relieved when she didn't hear chattering on the other side of the compartment door. Perhaps she still had time to settle down and wait for her new friends to arrive.

With this hopeful thought in mind, she entered compartment M.

And she found, that although it was quiet, it was no longer empty.

Opposite from the bench seat where she had stowed her things were two boys with dark hair. One, who had rather wild and unkempt hair for a boarding school student, in her opinion, was reading. The other boy, who was a bit more neat, was thoughtfully feeding what appeared to be small bits of jerky to a large bird of prey in a gilded cage that sat at the feet of both the boys.

"Ah," Hermione said without thinking as she faced the two boys, "You're in my compartment!"

Both boys looked up at this small outburst, and the one feeding the hawk raised one eyebrow curiously.

"Should we leave?" he asked in a strange combination of bemusement and consideration. He continued before she could say anything else, "Maybe you'd rather sit with girls."

Hermione found herself waving her hands in distress in front of herself as she attempted to say what she really meant, "Oh no, it's perfectly fine. I had expected girls, even though I knew there would be boys, but boys ought to be just as good, really. Anyway, it's not like I have my name written on the compartment and it's a free country where you're able to sit wherever you please," Hermione continued along at a speedy clip, as if someone had cursed her tongue so that it might never cease flopping about in her mouth and embarrassing her. The blood rushed to her cheeks as she realized how silly she must really sound, standing there babbling when she had practiced smiling and being pleasant and being interesting, and not being sassy, or worse yet, downright strange, and at last she blurted out all in a rush, "Anyway, what I mean to say is I'm very pleased to meet you and I'm Hermione Granger." She felt better, once she had finally gotten it out, like she could now move toward the bench seat across from them as she continued, "It's going to be my first year at Hogwarts."

She thought the two boys across from her might also be new first year students, but she felt it was rude to assume that they were.

The boy who had been feeding the hawk stood and politely shook her hand, giving it a brief, friendly squeeze.

"I'm Neville Longbottom," he said, nodding easily to her as he sat down again. "But feel free to call me Navy. Practically everybody does."

The boy with the unkempt hair and the thick round glasses studied her seriously as Neville shook her hand and then volunteered his own name without standing.

"I'm Harry Potter," he said, and then placing a mark in his book to hold the place he closed it as he continued, "We're both first years too."

It was a good thing that Hermione had already thoughtfully put her tucker box under the bench seat, otherwise she might have sat upon the carefully packed box of goodies. As it was she sat directly down on the hard seat as she asked, "Are you really?" She repeated their names to herself, out loud. "Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, you're the subject of quite a number of essays. I read about you in _Modern __Magical __History_, _Rise __and __Fall __of __the __Dark __Arts_, and _Great __Wizarding __Events __of __the __Twentieth __Century_. There are whole chapters about what happened in all three of those books, and I'm sure in quite a few more, since I can't really call my reading exhaustive yet, although I hope to someday."

Although she could have clearly summarized the terrible October night that had made the two of them subjects of such acclaim and written an essay on its effects on modern wizarding culture on the spot, what impressed Hermione so terribly was not really what they'd done, but the fact that they'd managed to be the subject of so many books, although they were both only eleven - and young eleven at that. She was very nearly a whole year older than them, but she thought that volunteering this information might be impolite.

She paused, thoughtfully, as she considered, then began carefully, "But I thought the both of you had disappeared. No one's heard of you in ten years."

Neville shrugged, smiling easily again, "We've just been living quietly, up in the country. Of course there was a lot of to-do at the time. I guess my Gran just wanted to keep us out of it."

Harry Potter had been watching her silently as Neville spoke, and as she turned to him, her eyes were drawn to the scar on his forehead, a sharp zig-zag that seemed almost as if it were branded into his skin.

"That's the mark," he said evenly, and Hermione got the strange impression that he had practiced saying what he said next, just as she had practiced saying 'Oh, I'd like that.' "I don't remember anything that happened, and neither does Neville."

Hermione felt a little guilty for so glibly bringing up a subject that must be difficult, no matter what the two of them might let on, and she tried to think of what she could say to make up with them when a low, abrupt sound split the air in the compartment and she was so surprised that she let out a little shriek, covering her mouth with her hands as her cheeks turned red with embarrassment.

Neville just grinned at her and scratched the back of his head.

"Sorry," he said, "I guess I should have told you. That's Trevor, my toad."

Sitting on the seat between the two boys was an orange toad who sat calmly breathing, his throat pouch bobbing in and out. How she could have missed seeing him there she was unsure, as he was a rather alarming shade of orange.

"Trevor likes corned beef and sitting in empty soap dishes, and is interested in pursuing a musical career, right Trevor?" Neville volunteered, and Hermione was unsure how much of what he said was serious and how much was a joke, but then the toad's vocal sac expanded quite impressively.

"Buuurbuuup," said Trevor, and Neville gave him a thumbs up.

Hermione smiled encouragingly at the two of them, although she was unsure what sort of musical career a toad might have, even in the wizarding world. Then her eyes drifted down to the hawk in the gilded cage.

"I suppose he's your owl then," she began again without thinking, and then felt like an idiot because it was obviously not an owl, but rather, some kind of heavy hawk. She rushed to correct herself, feeling very flustered. She could not remember the last time she had said so very many silly things to anyone in such a streak. "For the post I mean. He's meant to carry your post."

Harry Potter eyed her very seriously and then turned his head to the side curiously as he said, "She's clearly not an owl, and she's not a he either." He paused before continuing, turning fond eyes down on the large bird, "She's a goshawk. _Gōshafoc _they used to call her, the goose-hawk, although she was usually used to hunt rabbit and pheasant, not geese. Her name is Hedwig."

Hearing her name, the large hawk turned her own head to the side and opened her mouth to let out a pleased little chortle.

"I didn't know wizards used hawks," she admitted, because she hadn't. "I thought most everyone used owls."

Neville chuckled, "Most everyone does, nowadays. A wizard with a falcon, that's what you'd call old-fashioned, tenth century old-fashioned, maybe." Neville playfully shoved the other boy with his shoulder, crowding him over Trevor, "But Harry likes old-fashioned things."

Hermione was treated to Harry Potter's slow smile as he shoved the other boy back with his own shoulder. "At least I'm not so old-fashioned that I've got a pet toad."

"Trevor is the height of fashion, isn't that right, Trevor?" Neville argued, playfully shoving back.

"Buuuuurbuuuup," agreed Trevor, although Hermione was unsure if he had actually chimed into their argument to defend himself, or was simply responding to the repetition of his name.

She could not help but laughing easily at the two of them, in a heated shoving match over the toad.

"You two are very like brothers," she said, and she meant it. She had never had any brothers herself, but she had read quite a lot about them, and therefore considered herself something of an authority.

Neville left off shoving Harry after one last push with his shoulder.

"Of course we are," he smiled again, showing even white teeth, "And I couldn't ask for a better one."

He looked like he intended to go on in a friendly, teasing way, when a small movement from Harry caught her eye. It looked as if he was stretching his left hand. The fingers were laid out flat briefly, as if he were trying to tamp something invisible down. It was just a momentary movement, gone in the blink of an eye as Harry's hand relaxed again, but when her eyes returned to Neville, he had apparently decided not to continue, simply grinning easily as he relaxed back against the wall of the compartment, Trevor balanced on one of his knees.

Her eyes swept back to the boy with the unruly hair and the piercing green eyes.

_Had __Harry __Potter __given __Neville __some __sort __of __signal __not __to __continue __speaking__?_

It _seemed _as if he had, although perhaps it was all just a coincidence, and he had simply twitched his fingers briefly at the same moment Neville had thought better of teasing his brother in front of a girl they had both just met. Perhaps he _had _given a signal and there was a very innocent reason behind it. Perhaps Harry Potter had simply not wanted to be embarrassed in front of a girl. But if all her reading on the subject of brothers was accurate, she doubted this was a good enough reason for Neville to cease teasing him, unless he was the most conscientious and thoughtful brother yet to walk the earth, which he might well be, now that she thought about it.

Hermione might have asked about it, being a curious and direct girl who at times lacked a surplus of what others called 'tact,' but at that moment they were all three surprised by the compartment door, which came open rather abruptly, as if it had been kneed. The hastily opened door nearly caught Neville right in the face, but he was saved by Harry Potter, whose quick fingers snagged the edge of the door and stopped it right before it smashed in Neville's nose.

As the train lurched forward underneath them, finally headed out of the station and toward the as yet unknown destination of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hermione found herself staring at a very unusual creature.

It was a huge bag that was made of some strangely reflective material that looked like mylar, or the underside of a space blanket. It crinkled alarmingly, as if were filled with something alive desperately trying to escape, or perhaps several thousand greased marbles. Over the top of the bag they could just see what appeared to be the head of a child's stuffed lion, and below the bag poked two slender, pale legs, as thin and delicate as matchsticks. There were equally skinny arms clasped around the enormous bag.

"May I sit in here, if there's room?" asked the bag in an airy, polite voice. "Everyone else says they're full."

Although he had only narrowly avoided having his nose flattened by the door, Neville was on his feet immediately.

"May I take that from you?" he asked the bag with legs.

The stuffed lion head on top of the head shook, relaying a negative response to his question. "No you may not," she said. "The contents of this bag are very valuable to me."

Harry broke in over Neville's confusion, saying, "Yes, you're welcome to sit in here with us, that is, if Hermione doesn't mind."

Hemione's heart thrilled at that. One of her new friends had called her by her name. She hadn't expected it to be so exhilarating.

Riding such a crest of elation she felt she could be very generous, and feeling like a master of her art, she said, "Oh, I'd like that," like a champion who won at friendships all the time.

Apparently relieved, the arms holding the huge, unwieldy bag released it with no further consideration as to its safety, and the bag fell with a sound like crashing cymbals to the floor of the compartment, revealing a small girl who had pale blonde hair with dusty streaks running through it, as if she had made a number of mudpies and then run her fingers through her hair. Her hair was long and loose and wavy, and hung in curls of various sizes, making her look as if some experimental child had tried to fix her hair prettily and simply lost interest. As her arms and legs had prefigured, she was very small and skinny. She had a strange stuffed animal balanced on the top of her head. It had the head and front body of a lion, but the back part of an eagle.

She took no notice of the stunned looks on the faces of the three human residents of the compartment at the drop of her huge bag, but she did apologize to Hedwig and Trevor before pulling the door of the compartment closed behind her. Then she turned to face the three of them, as if sizing them up.

Neville found nothing else to do but sit back down and stare back at this strange little girl.

The Hogwarts Express chugged along, gaining speed.

Again it was Harry who had the presence to speak, "You probably ought to sit down. It can be dangerous to stand without holding onto a rail while a train is moving. Even the Hogwarts Express sometimes has jolts and bumps."

"It does really bump along quite a lot sometimes," Hermione piped up, agreeing with Harry, "Which is a little unusual for a train. I read about it in _Hogwarts__: __A __History__._"

"You ought to have found a safe seat already," Harry continued, nodding at the gigantic silver bag on the floor. "Especially with that load. It's even easier to fall if your hands are full."

"Oh, I had a seat," the small girl corrected him. "I was all alone in Compartment 5714, but then some older girls came in and threw me out of it." She spoke with mild disinterest, as if she were recounting a grocery shopping list, and not an unpleasant event that had recently befallen her exact person.

Although Hermione's attention was fixed on the strange girl, out of the corner of her eye she saw Harry tense and make to get to his feet, but then she saw the brief movement of Neville's hand, fingers flat for a moment, and then relaxed again. Harry did not stand, but as if he was frustrated, he leaned his forehead against the window and cast his eyes to the moving landscape outside.

"Well, you won't be thrown out of here," Neville assured the strange little girl, and she nodded, as if that much was a given. Then she turned her attention back to surveying the benches, one after another.

_She__'__s __trying __to __decide __where __to __sit__,_ Hermione realized with a start, as the girl's eyes flicked between one bench and the other. Although she was actually small enough to squeeze into the space that had originally been occupied by Neville's toad, the fact that she was considering sitting on the bench with the boys, rather than on the bench with Hermione Granger, destined best friend, made Hermione's heart sink and nearly dashed her dreams of boarding school chumminess.

At last, however, the girl apparently decided the bench seat by Hermione was better, and threw herself down on it with an audible thump, nearly sending the strange stuffed animal flying off her head.

The other three passengers looked down at the huge silver bag that writhed and crinkled from time to time, but none of them really made any attempts to stow it anywhere. It was simply too huge, actually bigger than the girl herself, Hermione thought. The edge of the great silver bag was bunched up against Hedwig's cage. The large bird was eyeing it, and although Hermione had little experience reading the emotions of raptors, she was certain that the bird was somewhat _alarmed_.

With the other girl settled, another eerie silence descended upon the compartment, but this time Harry seemed unwilling to break it, instead still staring with frustration out the window, so Hermione took it upon herself to force a smile and begin a conversation with their strange new companion.

"We're all first years," Hermione volunteered, trying to be friendly. "What's your name?"

The girl began speaking in the same strange, disinterested voice she had used before, as if she were bemused by everything the eye of the sun fell upon.

"I was under the impression that one gave one's name before one received another's," the girl said, although this statement was entirely without malice. It contained only curiosity and mild surprise. The girl went on without stopping. "My name is Luna Lovegood."

Hermione, feeling rather good, introduced all of them in turn, and while Luna said nothing when Neville and Harry were introduced, her pale eyebrows did go up.

At the end of the introductions, she said, very courteously, "It's a pleasure to meet you all." And Neville leaned across the compartment to shake her hand politely, as he had shaken Hermione's. She shook his hand, but the whole time she looked about herself very curiously, as if she found the entire experience quite interesting and very strange.

After the introductions, Hermione thought of something which caused her to frown. Being a straight-forward girl somewhat lacking in the grace that others call 'tact,' she asked about it immediately.

"Luna, how old are you?" she asked.

Luna did not appear to be upset by such a direct question, and volunteered the information immediately.

"I'm ten years old," she said airily, completely unconcerned.

_I __knew __it_, Hermione thought triumphantly. She was quite willing to let everyone know about her triumph as well.

"If you're ten then you must be on the train by mistake," she insisted, "Students aren't allowed to attend Hogwarts unless they're eleven years old by September 1st. The rules are very strict. It's all in _Hogwarts__: __A __History_," she finished dutifully, quite happy to footnote her reference material.

"Oh, that's true," agreed Luna, although she didn't seemed distressed by this revelation at all, as Hermione had expected her to be. "I don't turn eleven until October 16."

"Well then, we ought to tell somebody," said Hermione, ready to get to her feet and seek the assistance of authority. "Otherwise you might get in trouble."

Luna shrugged amiably and didn't move from where she sat, although she did rummage around in her robe and pull out a flat envelope. "I might get into trouble," she said peacefully, "But father said if I got the letter, then there was no mistake. When you get the letter, you go."

Hermione took the offered envelope and opened it to find a letter virtually identical to the one that she herself had received. It looked quite authentic, although Hermione still felt compelled to hold it up to the compartment's overhead light, as if this might assist her in detecting a forgery.

"Oh, it's authentic," Luna reassured placidly. "Father owled the school first thing when it came, and then went up there himself. Everyone is quite mystified because they say these things never happen. The student lists are generated automatically by the school each year, you know." Luna paused thoughtfully and looked at Hermione with her strange silvery eyes, "You can read about it in _Hogwarts__: __A __History_."

"I know," Hermione answered a bit impatiently. "I did."

"Anyway, it seems that after a discussion, the consensus was that I ought to go. I got my letter, so that means I'm wanted," Luna shrugged again, quite elegantly, and this time the stuffed animal did fall quite into her lap. "Perhaps there's a reason why I was wanted this year and not next year. I can't really say."

Hermione turned the thought over in her head while Luna stretched her short, spindly legs out in front of her. As she did so, Hermione noticed that one of her shoes was quite a bit bigger than the other one and remarked upon it.

Luna looked at her curiously, her head cocked slightly to the side, and said, "Haven't you ever heard that it's very unlucky to wear two shoes of the same size?"

Hermione had not, and one glance over at Neville and Harry gave her the impression that they had not either.

At that moment a light series of taps came on the door to the compartment and Neville rose and opened it to reveal a pretty young lady in an egg yolk yellow uniform with a little round hat perched upon her head. She had both her hands on a heavily laden cart of sweets, as if she were afraid that if she let loose of it, someone might make off with it.

"Honeydukes," she announced cheerfully. "Will any of you be wanting anything?"

Hermione's stomach rumbled embarrassingly loudly. Although she had had seven cups of tea she had not eaten a single bite, having been too nervous. Also, despite the fact that she had assisted her mother in packing a most splendid tucker box, Hermione Granger had already developed a taste for wizard sweets.

She made to rummage around in her little change purse, but Neville being already on his feet, was closer than she was.

"I think we'll try a little bit of everything," he said genially, "And if we share it, it'll make it seem like a party."

Although Hermione protested, Neville proceeded to pay for the entire compartment's order with money from his own purse. Luna watched the entire exchange without a word, although she kept her eyes fixed on the tray of sweets. Hermione thought Harry might have rolled his eyes, but he did not seem overly upset about Neville's decision.

Once the lady from Honeydukes was gone, Hermione felt that she rightly ought to offer to share her tucker box with the rest of them, since its whole purpose was to cement growing friendships. At the mention of a tucker box Harry brightened again and rummaged under their bench seat, somewhat upsetting Hedwig, until he produced theirs, which was packed in a very large, very pretty paper box covered with delicate illustrations of flowers and plants.

While they proceeded to unpack their boxes on the tray alongside the piles of sweets, Luna Lovegood continued to sit very still and watch them. Occasionally, the large silver bag still rattled alarmingly around at their feet. It was not clear that the smaller girl had any food to eat at all, and although Neville had bought enough food for the entire compartment, she seemed unwilling to move to help herself to any of it.

"Luna," began Hermione, smiling the smile of someone who is beginning to figure out how someone goes about making friends, "Would you like a cupcake? Mother packed more than enough for me to share."

She held a prettily decorated pink cupcake toward Luna, and Luna's eyes passed over it briefly before coming to rest on the box.

"I should really like," Luna admitted very slowly, "A sandwich." She paused, "If that's all right."

"Our Nan made us some really delicious seven-flavored sandwiches," volunteered Harry, warming up as if the subject of food really excited him. "You ought to try one," he said, and passed the flowered box toward her.

Luna politely ignored it, and as Hermione nodded, selected a dainty liverwurst sandwich triangle from Hermione's box. As Harry's face fell, Hermione snatched a sandwich from the flowered box, unwilling to let her new friends be disappointed.

"Did your Nanny really make you seven different flavors of sandwiches?" Hermione asked, impressed, studying the neat little sandwich which had the form of a flower pressed into the sweet-smelling brown bread. The sandwich smelled remarkably delicious, as well as familiar, although she was unable to place the scent in her memory. She found the sheer number of sandwich types quite impressive, as her own box contained only two kinds of sandwiches.

But Harry shook his head, "Oh no, our box only has one kind of sandwich, because Nan knows it's our favorite. They're all seven-flavored sandwiches. You're supposed to eat each one in seven bites, and each bite is a different flavor. They're really terrific," he assured her.

Hermione took an experimental bite of the sandwich and found it tasted just as delicious as it smelled. The first bite tasted of fresh roasted goose, the second of crispy fried fish, the third of roast beef dripping with gravy, the fourth of sweet ham and cream cheese, the fifth of lemon chicken, the sixth marvelously of curry, and the final bite tasted like the best egg salad she had ever eaten.

She sighed as she finished it and leaned back against the wall of the compartment in contentment.

Harry grinned at her over the top of the open boxes, "I told you," he said, "They're terrific."

Hermione's contentment was interrupted by Luna, who cleared her throat and said carefully, "I am also willing to share my provisions," before taking a bite out of what appeared to be a second sandwich triangle from Hermione's box.

Hermione sat up, curious to see what other sort of unusual wizarding food Luna might have brought with her in some hidden bag, but then she noticed that Luna was prodding the huge silver bag with her foot. It rustled in response.

Hermione raised one eyebrow uncertainly. "Your food," she asked, "Is in that sack?"

Luna nodded as she munched away at the liverwurst sandwich, "That is my lunch."

"The whole thing?" Hermione asked dubiously, and on the other side of the compartment she could see Harry silently elbowing Neville, his own eyebrows raised almost comically.

"Father didn't want me to get hungry," Luna explained, daintily licking her fingers one by one as she finished the last bite of the second sandwich triangle.

_It __takes __a __few __hours __to __get __to __Hogwarts__, __not __a __few __months__, _thought Hermione, her mind spinning, but thankfully did not blurt this observation out, as it might have hurt Luna's feelings.

"That's very thoughtful of him," she said instead, her eyebrow still dubiously raised.

"Yes," agreed Luna, taking another sandwich triangle from Hermione's box. "My father is extremely kind and thoughtful. He takes excellent care of me." She commenced eating the third sandwich triangle.

"So what did he pack for you?" Hermione asked, eyeing the huge bag on the floor.

"Peanuts," Luna answered simply.

"Peanuts?" asked Hermione. "The whole thing? The whole bag is just filled with peanuts?"

Luna nodded, and continue to nibble away at the liverwurst sandwich, but Hermione could not help but ask the question that was now on her mind.

"If that whole bag is just filled with peanuts, then why does it keep moving around?" she asked.

"All peanuts roll around like that sometimes when they're put in a sealed bag," Luna explained kindly, as if this were a very well-known fact about peanuts, "They might quiet down a bit if I sing to them. Shall I?"

Hermione managed to shake her head, and Luna, mollified by the liverwurst sandwich, said nothing else about it.

No one attempted to open the large silver bag which Luna insisted contained only peanuts.

Instead they shared what was in the boxes and what Neville had bought from the Honeydukes cart.

Harry and Neville both politely ate a sandwich triangle a piece from her box, and both were quite impressed with a marvelous-tasting substance that she identified as salad cream. Luna single-handedly ate every single liverwurst sandwich that was in Hermione's box, so Hermione was glad the two boys were generous with their seven-flavor sandwiches.

They all ate until they were quite stuffed, with Harry passing small tidbits of meat to Hedwig from time to time, and Trevor punctuating the silent munchings with his very loud croaks.

"I've been meaning to ask you, Luna," began Hermione, feeling quite full after such a train compartment feast, one surely as impressive as any she had ever read about in a book, and lightly prodding the strange stuffed animal that now lay on the seat between them. "What exactly is that? Is it meant to be a griffin? Does that mean you're interested in Gryffindor House? I am," she volunteered candidly, "I think it sounds really quite excellent."

Luna seemed somewhat startled that Hermione had made such a connection. "It's not a griffin," she corrected, "It's a grif_fon_. Griffins are widely known to have the head of an eagle and hindquarters of a lion. Griffons, however, have the head of a lion and the hindquarters of an eagle, and my father believes the Ministry of Magic is trying to hush up all the sightings of griffons because of their extremely toxic and corrosive fecal matter, which they dump upon unsuspecting witches and wizards when they feel threatened."

While Hermione digested this information, Luna continued thoughtfully, "I had just assumed I would be sorted into Ravenclaw, I suppose. Lovegoods usually are, I think. My father was a Ravenclaw, and my mother was a Ravenclaw too." She paused and when she spoke again her voice was very quiet, "I suppose it's really all I'm good at: thinking about things."

At this, Harry Potter broke in again.

"My Nan always says that every person has all the good things and bad things of the Houses in them, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin, no matter who they are."

Hermione, who had read quite a lot about Hogwarts already, was uncertain about one particular point, although otherwise such a saying was quite nice and dovetailed conveniently with her total disregard for the concept of predestination.

"What good things are there about Slytherin House?" she asked, wondering if he might be able to tell her a few colloquial ones that might not be printed in books.

Harry simply shrugged and confessed, "I dunno. She never said, but she did seem convinced there were some."

At that moment, as if to provide possible first-hand evidence of the virtues of Slytherins, or possible Slytherins-to-be, another knock came at the door, and before it could be answered by Neville, the door was thrust open again, and again Harry saved Neville's face from being flattened by catching the edge of the door with his palm.

Hermione thought he really must have remarkable reflexes.

Into the compartment came a pale, narrow-faced boy with hair that was blonder than even Luna's and the vaguely bored expression of the sort of boy who commonly pulls the wings off of flies.

"I heard Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom are in this car," he announced carelessly, letting his eyes sweep over the four of them. His eyes came to rest on the two boys, then briefly flicked to the two girls, before coming back to rest on the boys. "That's you then, is it?" He looked at them appraisingly, then announced, "I suppose I thought you'd be taller."

Hermione broke in, somewhat disgusted that they were being looked over like merchandise.

"Harry's taller than you," she pointed out. "And Neville's much nicer than you."

"Oh?" the boy asked idly, vaguely turning his attention her way, "Is that a dog I hear barking?" Then his sharp little eyes focused on her and he said, "No, it appears to be a little muggle mongrel instead. You ought to learn not to speak to a Malfoy unless you're spoken to."

At that, Harry was on his feet, upsetting Hedwig's cage and causing the peanuts to go into a wild panic.

"Don't!" cried out Neville, rising to his feet in an attempt to intercept Harry before Harry had time to move on Malfoy, but Harry was quick, quicker perhaps than a viper. The rest of Neville's shouted warning came out at the same time Harry's fist connected with Malfoy, "Hit him in the face. Hit him on the trunk."

Although Neville's warning had not come out fast enough, Harry had taken his advice into account anyway, and had landed a surprisingly sharp jab right to the tendons between Malfoy's right shoulder and his chest. Malfoy sputtered and staggered backwards, right into the waiting arms of two boys who looked as if they were built from piles and piles of somewhat unattractive stones.

The two lumbering boys looked as if they were ready to begin ripping compartment M apart, shred by shred, to answer for the punch Harry had delivered to the Malfoy boy. Neville got to his feet, ready to back Harry up, and Hermione wrapped her arms around her legs and curled into a ball, sure that they were all going to be expelled before she even laid eyes on Hogwarts, when suddenly a red-haired prefect bustled onto the scene and demanded to know what was going on.

Harry and Neville both looked somewhat awkward, Malfoy looked so livid he was speechless, and the two golem boys seemed unable to comment, and so it was Luna who spoke up.

"Mr. Malfoy came into the car to kindly speak with us, Mr. Prefect, but then he lost his balance and fell and hit his shoulder," she said very candidly. "You know, it's very dangerous to go walking around on a moving train without holding onto rails. But don't worry, Mr. Malfoy," Luna continued politely, "I won't tell anyone about how you slipped and fell, because I'm sure it would be terribly embarrassing if it began circulating that you fell down because of such a little thing."

The red-haired prefect listened to Luna ramble on before turning to the Malfoy boy and his cohorts.

"Is this true?" he asked.

Malfoy scowled at the four of them, and if he had had the ability to flay them to ribbons right then and there, Hermione had no doubt that he would have tried, but alas, he was under the watchful eye of the law.

Beside her, Luna mouthed the words _Very __Embarrassing_ at him very slowly, while tracing the side of her face with a fingertip, as if following the track of one single tear.

Malfoy frowned viciously, but then agreed with a bark like a dog, "Yes, it's as she says."

The prefect seemed exasperated with their carelessness.

"Well come along then, and this time hold to the rails. If your shoulder keeps bothering you then you can see the school nurse." He herded the three boys as if they were naughty kittens and then turned back to the four in the compartment with a thoughtful eye.

"You best make sure you're dressed," he warned. "We'll be at Hogwarts any time now."

And then he was gone, and the door swung closed behind him.

* * *

During the sorting, Hermione was quite pleased to find herself sorted into Gryffindor House, after a brief conversation about her priorities with the singing hat.

Mr. Neville Longbottom was also sorted into Gryffindor House, and after he left the stool, Luna Lovegood sat for an unnaturally long time under the perplexed hat, until it had at last shouted out "GRYFFINDOR!" with a wild shriek of delight.

Luna was so surprised that she was sorted into Gryffindor that first she went toward the wrong table (Hufflepuff) and then then in her rush to go to the correct table she ran, tripped, and fell flat on her face, likely, Hermione thought, due to her lucky shoes of two different sizes.

The whole of the feasting hall was completely silent during this entire escapade.

Neville, conscientious as always, stood up from the Gryffindor table, walked over to Luna, and helped her to her feet before taking her by the arm and escorting her safely to the Gryffindor table himself.

At this, it seemed as if the entire room erupted into applause.

Malfoy, Draco surprised no one by being sorted into Slytherin by a sorting hat that seemed rather tired of sorting Malfoys into Slytherin House.

And then Harry Potter, the boy with the wild dark hair, the piercing green eyes, the bird that was clearly not an owl, and the mean right hook, was also sorted into Gryffindor House, amid wild cheers from the table of lions. Even Luna had clapped very gravely.

And this was the way that Hermione Granger first came to know the Boys Who Lived.


	3. Lesson Two: A Very Difficult Man

**Hermione Granger and the Boys Who Lived**

_A Harry Potter Reimagining_

_Harry Potter x Hermione Granger; Neville Longbottom x Luna Lovegood_

**_By Gabihime at gmail dot com_**

_Lesson Two: In Which a Minor War is Fought, there is a Description of Classes that one Might Expect to Have at a School of Magic, and an Encounter with a Very Difficult Man_

* * *

Ultimately, despite Hermione Granger's overwhelming (and quite irrational) fear that first year classes at Hogwarts might be too much for her, she found lessons to be both exciting and fulfilling.

And naturally, as expected, they were difficult.

She was glad she had studied her course books so thoroughly over the summer. There was so much to learn that she doubted she would have been able to maintain a proper high standard of academic excellence had she not done so much reading ahead of time.

And she was entirely unwilling to let anyone carry a higher score than she did, even at the early date of the first week of classes. She was good at school work, naturally so and also because she expended long hours of effort. It was one of the core elements of her world, one of the pillars of her sky: she was very clever and always at the top of her class. Even here, in this strange new world where she had to learn Charms and Transfiguration and Herbology, she was determined to be the best, despite the relative handicap of not having been born into a wizarding family.

Ultimately, Hermione relished such a handicap. It meant that when she made the top marks she had done so completely and exclusively through her own merit and efforts. Let no one imagine that she had had an easy time of it. It made her cleverness that much more impressive.

It was important that her cleverness be impressive, she thought, for like Luna, she secretly worried it was all she was good at: thinking about things.

As she had expected, due to their destined meeting on the train, Luna Lovegood had become her closest friend at Hogwarts. This was not so much because they both delighted in one another's company and found they always had things to talk about, but rather because both of them found themselves outcasts in the first year girl's dormitory in Gryffindor tower.

They shared the dormitory with two other girls, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, both of whom had also become fast friends on the train ride to Hogwarts. Any hopes of a splendid dormitory built on mutual feelings of sisterhood had been dashed early, however, when Hermione had inadvertently offended both of the other girls when she had told them that she thought that magazines were rather stupid, and that she preferred books. When the girls had both complained about the dullness of their uniforms and mooned over the idea that they ought to be able to wear what they liked to class, Hermione had further told them that she thought that uniforms were very sensible and appropriate for learning. That was why they were at Hogwarts, after all, to learn, not to be distracted by silly things like clothes or boys.

And her friendship with Luna did not make her particularly popular with the other two girls either. When Hermione had first climbed the steps to the dormitory room where her things had been stowed, she had found the two girls gossiping about Luna's performance at the Welcoming Feast. It seemed to be the opinion of both the other first year Gryffindor girls that Luna was decidedly dotty, and that having her in their house might prove to be more a hindrance than a blessing.

While Hermione had to agree that Luna was a strange girl, she also thought that Luna was a good girl, and that despite her strange behavior, Luna really was making every effort to be kind and pleasant and to get along with everyone. She seemed to have a desperate desire to belong, something that Hermione herself could readily understand.

And then there was the fact that Hermione had met Luna on the train, and therefore already felt an overwhelming desire to protect her from whatever threatened. Given Neville's actions during the Sorting Ceremony, he apparently felt the same way.

Luna, with her spindly arms and legs and her shoes of two different sizes and her mud-streaked hair and her enormous, quivering bag of peanuts, had the sort of personality that really encouraged others to protect her, both from outside threats, and from herself.

So when Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil had asked Hermione what she thought of the strange, waifish girl who seemed so ill-fitted to Gryffindor House, Hermione had replied resolutely and with quite a bit of fire that Luna Lovegood was her best friend in the entire world, and that she couldn't hope to find anyone better.

Hermione had been secretly glad that Luna had been down in the common room examining the undersides of tables when she had expressed their friendship so passionately, because really, they had just met, and Luna was very strange.

All of these things, combined with the fact that both she and Luna were not particularly afraid of talking naturally with Gryffindor's resident celebrities, Harry and Neville - being that they had shared the train ride and their tucker boxes with the two boys - ultimately led to the fact that the first year girl's dormitory had been divided down the middle.

Or at least, it probably would have been had Lavender and Parvati not claimed the two beds in the middle of the room, leaving she and Luna at either end.

And Hermione couldn't bear to ask that they switch the beds around, even though such a thing was not forbidden and would have been easy enough to accomplish simply by moving trunks, because this, she thought, would be like _letting __the __two __other __girls __win_.

Again, it was unclear what exactly they would be winning, but Hermione, being perversely stubborn, was not willing to let them win it.

Luna, for her part, seemed entirely unruffled that the other two girls had decided to be at war with them. When Luna's mismatched shoes did not turn up the morning of the first day of classes, she simply went to class barefoot, and got a reprimand from Professor McGonogall. She managed to evade having points docked from the house by claiming that she had read that some sorts of spells were easier to accomplish when one's feet were planted firmly on the ground. McGonogall had acknowledged that this was true, and admitted that Luna would benefit from being grounded a little more firmly, and so had given her a note of permission that she might go without shoes when she pleased, provided she promised to make sure to keep her feet clean, and not track grime into the offices of professors.

When Luna's textbooks disappeared, she simply scooted closer to Hermione and read out of hers.

Luna never complained, and always followed patiently behind Hermione (barefoot) as Hermione hunted for Luna's stolen goods. Hermione knew very well that she could not go to any figure of authority with this bullying, as she had read about quite a lot of similar situations in her boarding school books, and if there was one thing that was agreed upon between all of them, it was that tattletales were positively _reviled_. The troubles of the first year Gryffindor girl's dormitory would have to be resolved by the residents of the first year Gryffindor girl's dormitory. Eventually, Hermione tired of hunting for Luna's shoes and socks and scarf and books and collection of puffskein stuffed animals, and after some difficulty taught herself the Summoning Charm _Accio_, which was in the _Standard __Book __of __Spells__ (__Grade __Five__)_ that she consulted at the library.

Hermione felt quite accomplished having learned the Summoning Charm successfully, as she understood it was a spell quite above the level of the average first year student. Perhaps desperation and determination had aided her in learning it, for her dreams of impressing her professors with her performances as a prodigy were dashed when she failed to successfully learn any of the other Grade Five spells, despite considerable effort.

The silver lining of her disappointment that she was not as great a magical prodigy as she might have wished (and what prodigy is?) was that after learning the Summoning Charm Lavender and Parvati got tired of hiding Luna's things and an uneasy peace was established.

So Grade Five would have to wait, but she thought she might try Grade Two a little later in the year, once she felt she could perform all the Grade One spells perfectly.

Of course, she had already learned them all off by heart, but, as she discovered, learning the textbooks by heart wasn't all there was to doing magic - although it certainly didn't hurt.

They had classes five days a week, with holidays on Saturdays and Sundays. The schedule for each day was different, and generally they had three classes per day, with the exception of Wednesdays and Thursdays, when they only had two, a great deal of time being spent Wednesday night in the Astronomy Tower, when the students observed the stars and planets, and Thursday being primarily concerned with Potions class.

Besides Astronomy, as first years they also took the History of Magic, Herbology, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, and Transfiguration. They also had flying lessons once a week, which Hermione did not particularly look forward to.

History of Magic was rather what one might expect from a class of such a name. With the use of a heavy textbook, which he never indicated that they ought to open, although Hermione did so religiously, and the aid of arm-fulls of musty maps and diagrams, Professor Binns, the resident ghost professor, taught them about the history of wizarding folk, from early times to the present. As it was just their first year, he was content to give them a general overview of historical events from the dawn of wizarding history to the present day. Hermione found it all terribly interesting, and was always quick to realize when important wizarding events coincided with the important events of regular "muggle" history, of which she had always been fond. She did find, however, that sometimes the magical textbook, or Professor Binns himself made unintentionally hilarious mistakes when referring to the events of the mundane world, such as when he called Queen Elizabeth "Queen Balthazar" by mistake, an error he continued to make throughout the year, no matter how many times Hermione corrected him.

Most of the other students seemed to find Professor Binns' lectures to be dreadfully dull, given the percentage of students who slept through the class, despite the fact that the Gryffindors had double History with the Ravenclaws. Luna, who sat right next to Hermione and sometimes shared her book, listened intently to everything that came out of Professor Binns' spectral mouth, but the notes she studiously took down had virtually nothing to do with what the man said. When Hermione curiously read them over her shoulder one day they turned out to be something like a heroic epic starring Charles IV of France and a lot of talking rabbits. She had thought about suggesting that Luna take notes on the actual class, but the fact that Luna seemed to inexplicably do well on the quizzes and homework assigned in the class despite the state of her notes made Hermione reconsider, figuring it was not worth the argument.

Even Neville Longbottom apparently found the history class boring. He didn't sleep through it like Ron Weasley or Seamus Finnegan, but took notes very lethargically and yawned half a dozen times a lesson.

The only other student in the class who really seemed to enjoy the lessons was one Harry Potter, esq. He listened thoughtfully to all of Professor Binns' lectures and besides Hermione, was the only other person who asked questions in class, and sometimes even disagreed with the professor over various points. Professor Binns always took these disagreements mildly, and was willing to discuss points with Harry at length, even if this completely derailed the rest of the day's lesson. He and Harry always seemed to come to some sort of agreement by the end of the lesson, and so Hermione ultimately thought him to be quite a good professor, since he was willing to go to great lengths to interact with the students who were actually engaged with his class.

Like Luna and Hermione, Harry made good marks in the History of Magic. It seemed that the love for old-fashioned things that Neville had teased him about went beyond goshawks.

Herbology they had double with the Hufflepuffs and was taught sometimes outside in the open air and sometimes in a series of long greenhouses that ran at angles to one another, forming the shape of a star. Although these greenhouses were connected to one another, each one was bewitched to have its own climate and weather, which was localized to one particular area.

Certain parts of the greenhouses, and in fact certain greenhouses in their entirety, were off-limits to first year students, because they contained plants that Professor Sprout advised might happily devour a young student. Fortunately, Hermione thought, they were not expected to handle anything particularly dangerous, although often they handled things that were messy, smelled bad, or were otherwise inconvenient. She was glad she wasn't a particularly particular girl when it came to her hands and nails, because Lavender and Parvati always seemed to spend ages at the sink after Herbology lessons ended, trying to scrub their hands spotless.

Neville Longbottom did particularly well in this class, and Hermione had to struggle to compete with him. His basic knowledge of plants, fungi, and their uses seemed to quite outstrip hers, and leave the first year's herbology textbook in the dust as well. Because of this, Professor Sprout often selected him to help her demonstrate lessons, or handle more advanced specimens when they were exhibited to the class.

Hermione was not so petty that she did not admire the depth and breadth of his knowledge, even as the spirit of competition was kindled in her breast. She asked him what books he had studied out of, and he had laughed mildly, one hand behind his head, and said that he had done a lot of work in the back garden. He did have two or three books to recommend, ones that he described as "Practically indispensable!" and she wrote down their names so she could check them out of the library post-haste.

If there was one class that really disappointed Hermione that year, it was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Although she had found the textbook for the course to be quite interesting, Professor Quirrell really did little in the way of teaching. Sometimes he gave lectures, but he stuttered very badly, and these lectures were rarely anything more than word for word repetitions of chapters of the book that Hermione had already read.

Although initially interested, Harry and Neville, who sat in the row in front of she and Luna in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, had clearly lost interest in the class by the end of the first week, and used the time when Quirrell nattered on to catch up on the sleep that they missed in History of Magic. When the two of them were called on in class, Hermione kicked the back of Harry's seat until they woke up, vaguely dazed, and answered a question or did a reading. Harry always gave her a thumbs up after such a save, and then promptly went back to sleep.

Luna spent this class continuing her epic about Charles IV.

Although the subjects were different, Hermione felt that Charms and Transfiguration were the classes most similar to one another. For one thing, they were both intimately concerned with the teaching of the magical syllabary, which was one of the most important foundational elements of modern magic. Although they were called upon to use the magical syllabary in other classes, such as Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms and Transfiguration were really the subjects in which it was truly taught. Learning magic was like learning a language in which the smallest shift in tone, in sound, in inflection, or in writing could change the meaning of a thing entirely. Modern magic, she learned, was governed by complex rules and employed quite a lot of formal logic. It wasn't simple to understand or to accomplish. Nothing they did was "so easy it was like magic."

Instead, it was quite systematic, and in both Charms and Transfiguration they learned a lot of practical examples that helped them understand the underlying theory of the basic spells they were taught, although each of the classes seemed to have a special focus in enhancing their understanding of the magic they were learning. If Charms, taught by Professor Flitwick, focused on teaching them the _lexicon _of magic, then Transfiguration, taught by Professor McGonogall was centered on teaching the _grammar _of magic. As such, Charms always felt a bit softer to Hermione than Transfiguration did. It was easier to enchant a thing, to give it a new or enhanced property, than it was to reconfigure it totally. Charms depended mainly on proper wand movement and generally accurate pronunciation, while Transfiguration required a lot of conjugation, diagramming and demanded precision, lest one end up with a teacup that scampered across the desk and hid itself in a hole in the wall.

Which is of course why the first time Hermione turned a matchstick into a needle, it still had an head of red phosphorous instead of a neat eye. Practical work was practical, and it took practice to get better at it.

The periods between the different lessons always seemed to be very brief to Hermione, even with her thirst for knowledge. It was a good thing that Hermione did not often have a thirst for water, because there was no time to stop and have a glass between classes, or go to the bathroom. Most of the time she seemed to be in a rush to go someplace or another, and this was augmented by the fact that the school seemed to rearrange itself constantly for its own convenience. It certainly wasn't for the convenience of the students, because staircases changed underfoot, doors locked or unlocked themselves at their own pleasure, and landmarks seemed to move around as they liked. At first Hermione had thought she might map out the most reliable routes to class and so save herself a lot of trouble, but gave up when she identified at least thirty-eight unique and constantly changing routes to Professor Binns' classroom. It was not something that could really be planned in advance, she had learned. Navigating in Hogwarts was something that one had to do on the fly, and the red-haired prefect assured her that eventually it would become instinctual.

So Hermione made sure to have a big glass of water in the morning, so that her mind was properly lubricated for the day's hard business of thinking, and then go to the toilet so she wouldn't be forced to take any breaks until the lunch hour rolled around. Hermione could not imagine asking to go to the toilet in the middle of class and thus missing valuable instruction from the teacher, but Luna apparently had no such qualms, because her slender white hand was often up at odd times to ask permission to go to the bathroom, and it was always granted. Hermione secretly thought that this was because none of the Professors wanted to discover what Luna might do in their class if her request to go to the toilet was _denied_.

Hermione felt that Luna was often gone to the bathroom for an inexcusably long time, and once found her sitting happily outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom with Argus Filch's cantankerous cat Mrs. Norris delightedly curled up in her lap.

"What are you doing?" Hermione had demanded, carrying her books as well as Luna's books piled high in her arms.

"Making another friend," Luna had replied carelessly, and then gently deposited Mrs. Norris on the ground again lovingly.

Hermione really couldn't understand Luna's affection for the lamp-eyed cat who was always trotting at the heels of the school's caretaker, Argus Filch. This scowling old man seemed to dislike students only a little more than he disliked Peeves the Poltergeist, an unruly spirit who was also always troubling the student body with his mischief. Besides the cat, Luna seemed to like Filch as well, which Hermione found equally mystifying. She understood that Filch had a job to do, to keep the school in order and the students out of trouble, but he had yelled at Hermione to get along with herself multiple times, and Hermione could not think of a student at Hogwarts who was more in order than she was at any given time. He was really an awful sort of man, she thought.

But Luna seemed to disagree.

"I think he's lonely," she had volunteered one evening in the common room when Hermione asked why she always appeared to be extraordinarily nice to him, even when he yelled at her.

"Well, he's got a terrible personality," Hermione had answered crossly.

Luna had just stared at her unblinking after that until Hermione's ears had turned hotly pink and she had looked away and changed the subject.

* * *

One thing that Hermione noticed almost immediately was that except in the notable subjects of History of Magic and Herbology, Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom were not particularly outstanding students in any of their classes. Instead of coming as a relief to a girl who had set her cap to be the best at absolutely everything, this revelation piqued her curiosity. They were both quite capable, as far as she could tell, and Harry seemed to spend a great deal of his time reading, and yet they were both only a hair over average in most all of their coursework.

Their consistently slightly-above-average scores were almost unnerving.

It was almost as if, almost as if the two of them were making mistakes on purpose, so as not to draw attention to themselves (not that they didn't get quite a bit of attention already due to their celebrity status). It was as if they had both agreed upon what sort of class performance was safe to exhibit, and never deviated from it. It felt like they were holding themselves back, like they were _deliberately __electing _not to do their very best.

Hermione couldn't understand it.

Nor would she tolerate it, as such behavior made her furious. She wanted to win against the two of them at school work, but she wanted to win fair and square, not feel like she was _allowed _to be best only because they had better things to do with themselves.

But she didn't have any evidence, so she couldn't accuse them. It was a feeling of hers more than a fact, but it was a feeling that she put quite a lot of stock in.

So, determined to prove herself right, she began systematically recording every grade they received back and the precise way they handled every practical example they did in class.

It was quite a lot of extra work to do on top of her studies, but if Luna had time to write about talking rabbits, then Hermione had time to spare to unravel a mystery (and prove herself right in the process).

For this purpose, the Potions class seemed to be the best mine of data.

Potions was taught by a tall, narrow-shouldered, forbidding man who demanded that they all call him either 'Sir' or 'Professor Snape.' In the flickering torchlight of the dungeons, where the Potions studio was located, his skin had almost a green appearance, and above ground in the sunlight his color didn't seem much healthier. His hair was dark and inky and fell to his shoulders, although while teaching class he often wore it tied back into a low ponytail. He also always seemed to smell strange and vaguely unpleasant, as if the scent of the many unusual potion ingredients he spent his time in the midst of had seeped into his clothes and perhaps his very skin. His voice was low, but it carried through the echoing Potions studio with gravity, and while not truly terrible, it was hardly a voice Hermione would have wished to hear in the dark. When she heard it, it made her unconsciously sit up ramrod straight.

He seemed like a man who would give detention for the slightest infraction of rules or etiquette.

Besides being the Potions instructor, Snape was also the head of Slytherin House, which Hermione could not say counted in his favor. As they had double Potions class with the Slytherins, she was somewhat worried that he might unconsciously favor them over the Gryffindors.

She found out that she needn't have worried.

He was excruciatingly hard on everyone, particularly on Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom, she thought.

If in other classes they might have had to strive to make average grades, in Potions class it was no challenge at all. Professor Snape constantly marked them lower than she thought they deserved. Hermione knew that she was not a professor, and as such was not really in a position to question the grades assigned by her teachers, but she could not help but feel that Snape gave them poor marks for some reason that had absolutely nothing to do with their class performance.

If Neville and Harry were bothered by this, they gave no sign of it. They sat together at one desk and shared a cauldron as potions partners, much as she and Luna did. Their first practical lesson was to brew a potion to cure boils, which Luna did not wish to participate in, as it involved dropping live slugs into the bubbling cauldron. Hermione had been forced to do this part of the assignment herself, and found that they had disappeared into the simmering liquid with a series of unsettling plops.

In the end, she had produced a solution that Snape had considered "passable." While Harry and Neville had finished with a solution that was "barely passable."

Hermione noticed that her score of "passable," was the highest he offered to anyone in the class save a bespectacled boy named Theodore Nott, whose potion Snape gave the highest honor of "almost acceptable."

Ultimately, Potions class was very stressful, as Hermione felt like she had to be on high alert at every moment. This was doubly so because every Thursday Potions class lasted for nearly five hours with no breaks. By the end of each class, she felt like she was about to drop.

At the end of one particularly stressful class, when Hermione's tired mind was busy whirling over the homework that she would have to face that evening in the common room, Professor Snape asked that she stay behind.

While Hermione's stomach twisted as she tried to figure out what unforgivable mistakes she had made during class, Luna gave her a pitying look, and then, piling her books and Hermione's books comically on top of her small, doll-like head, she staggered off under their weight, leaving Hermione to her fate.

Professor Snape called Hermione up to his lectern, and she found she had to comply. She crept toward the front of the room, one slow step after another.

She was going to be expelled.

There was no other explanation.

She was going to be expelled because she couldn't make a better grade in his class than "almost acceptable."

Her life was over.

He was impatiently tapping his foot by the time she reached his lectern. With barely a glance in her direction, he expertly flipped open the heavy book that lay on the lectern and pointed to a paged covered in text and cramped notations. At the top of the page was a heading that read "Increasing Mental Fortitude."

"Miss Granger," he said shortly, and Hermione could not help up stand up straighter, which was very difficult because she was already standing very straight already. He frowned, but otherwise ignored her obvious unease, "You may find some benefit to this potion. It will not make your class work easier, so do not look to it as an easy substitute for hard work. It will, perhaps, help you to relax." He tapped his finger on the list of ingredients. "Although this potion is generally not taught to students until year three, I believe that you probably have enough skill at this point not to bungle it." At this point he pulled a small glass bottle out of one of his pockets and passed it into her hands. "This should serve as your sample batch. You are to be responsible for your supply of it in future, Miss Granger. Please take this opportunity to copy the recipe down and take it with you. You'll find quill and parchment on the table, if you need them, as your, ah," here he paused somewhat awkwardly, "_Partner_ has already left with your things."

He turned and left her then, to put away scales and vials that some of the students had left scattered untidily across the desks, and an astonished Hermione hastened to do as she was told.


	4. Lesson Three: A Lot of Rules Are Broken

**Hermione Granger and the Boys Who Lived**

_A Harry Potter Reimagining_

_Harry Potter x Hermione Granger; Neville Longbottom x Luna Lovegood_

**_By Gabihime at gmail dot com_**

_Lesson Three: In which a Birthday is Had, Exceptional Athletic Expertise is Revealed Quite Suddenly, and Quite a Lot of Rules are Broken by a Normally Rule-Abiding Girl_

* * *

Inevitably, inexorably, and inescapably, Flying lessons approached.

Hermione could not help but be aware that they approached. Her mind dwelt long and anxiously on their coming.

She was decidedly unsettled.

Flying was the only subject taught to first year students for which the Hogwarts invitation letter did not provide a textual reference. There was no book suggested to assist with the Flying class. This was one of the more alarming things about flying.

She had not spent the summer reading about it. She had not spent the summer preparing for it. Although she had known based on her readings that witches and wizards commonly used broomsticks as a means of transport, the fact that the invitation letter had expressly forbidden first years from bringing their own brooms to school had reassured Hermione that learning to fly must be a skill acquired at a more responsible age than eleven, much as driving was in the muggle world. Her beloved _Hogwarts__: __A __History_ had not revealed the singularly alarming fact that she would be forced to learn to fly her first year either. Although the book mentioned very casually that students flew about the grounds, particularly when playing the wizarding sport of Quidditch, it did not reveal from what year these skills were taught.

With no facts at her fingertips and no real mental preparation, when Hermione faced down the prospect of learning to fly on a broomstick, her heart quivered, if only a little.

The fact that no other Gryffindor first year seemed to be at all concerned about their impending Flying lessons made Hermione's fear of flying a secret she kept locked tightly in her heart. She didn't want to be teased over something so silly. No one else was afraid, so why should she be? She was most certainly not afraid. She was only a little, a little, _she __was __only __concerned __about __her __class __performance__._ She was only concerned she wouldn't score as highly in her Flying class as she did in her other classes. After all, although she wasn't a terrible athlete, she had never done so well at sports as she had at studies. She had simply never made time for it. So she certainly wasn't afraid that she'd break her arm, or her leg, or her neck trying to learn to fly. She was afraid that she'd get poor marks. That was what she told herself, repeatedly.

The truth was something that she was completely unwilling to reveal or even entertain to herself: that she was terrified that she would break her neck _and _get poor marks.

With such a gauntlet of unspeakable horrors looming, Hermione girded herself for war in the best way that she knew how.

She went to the library.

After a thorough consultation of the shelves, she came away with a pile of books that she was certain would broaden her understanding of the subject (and hopefully help her keep her limbs from being broken even if she could not keep her class performance above average. She thought she might have a chance to keep her marks high if she could convince the instructor teaching the class to assign them essays and give them written tests along with practical ones. She was confident in her ability to memorize broom speeds, flying regulations, and work out turning radii.)

In the end, she ended up with _Quidditch __Through __the __Ages__, __Basic __Broom __Care __and __Maintenance__, __The __Evolution __of __the __Modern __Flying __Broom__, __He __Flew __Like __a __Madman__: __The __Biography __of __Dai __Llewllyn__,_ and _To __the __Sky__: __Curing __Your __Fear __of __Falling_. This last title she kept hidden as best she could, as she did not want to give her anxiety away to any of the other students.

Every time she had a spare moment, she threw herself wildly into her research on brooms and flying. She read in the common room, she read at the breakfast table, she read on breaks, and she read at night in bed. She read silently, she read aloud, and she quoted sections aloud to anyone who was willing to listen to her (and several people who were not). It was her way of whistling in the dark.

So preoccupied with the impending flying lessons was she that she might have forgotten her own birthday had she not received a neatly wrapped parcel by owl post one morning at breakfast. It was, naturally, from her parents, who had enclosed a box of sweets from Hermione's favorite bakery and a book. The book was a modern (muggle) anthropological study of magic in various cultures around the world, and it was inscribed, "To our own Witch, with good wishes, Love Mum and Dad." They had also thoughtfully packed a new toothbrush and an additional tube of toothpaste next to the box of sweets, a gentle reminder that even though she was away from home, cavities would not be tolerated.

That evening after classes, Luna had very seriously approached Hermione bearing the largest stuffed puffskein from her bed. This she had presented to Hermione very gravely, saying only,

"His name is Oscar. Please take very good care of him. Happy Birthday."

Luna had been so serious, like a tiny bishop officiating at a religious holiday, that Hermione had not known how to refuse the gift, and had accepted it a little awkwardly. As she accepted the puffskein, a pale pink blush rose in Luna's cheeks and she smiled with undisguised happiness, the first such smile that Hermione could recall seeing. After a moment, however, her emotion apparently overcame her, and she fled from the common room, running up the stairs to the girl's dormitory without a word, and Hermione did not see her again that evening.

Other than the stuffed puffskein Oscar and the box from her parents, Hermione received no other unexpected birthday presents, although she did gain some popularity among Gryffindors of all ages by freely offering her box of birthday sweets to the other students in the common room.

Birthday pleasantries aside, Flying lessons approached unavoidably.

At last the fateful Thursday arrived, and Hermione sat at the breakfast table with her nose buried in her quidditch books, with a cup of tea that was nearly half Mental Fortitude Potion if it was a drop close at hand. She was thankful that Flying lessons were the same day as Potions lessons, because that meant she didn't have to feel guilty for downing such a slug of liquid courage.

The owl post had just been distributed, and Hedwig still perched on the table a few seats down, where Neville and Harry seemed to be joking over a letter from Neville's grandmother.

"She's put a special warning in here for you not to fall on your head!" she could hear Harry saying, obviously delighted.

Meanwhile, Neville was groaning, "Graaaan," in response.

Across the table from her, Ron Weasley was also examining his post, which included a letter and a curious round object.

The elder Weasley twins, who had wandered by on their way to seek some breakfast porridge, dispensed noogies and teasing on the afflicted Ron, who had commenced groaning himself upon opening the letter.

"Mum sent you a Rememberall, did she?" asked one of them, who might have been George.

"Bad luck, that, Ronnykins," agreed the other, who would have logically then been Fred. "Mum knows better than to send something like that to us!"

"I know!" agreed the twin who might have been George, throwing his arms in the air, "She knows we'd just remember some rules we'd forgotten to break!"

At the mention of rule-breaking, Professor McGonogall had appeared as if by magic, and the twin who might have been George turned his arm waving into interpretive dancing, and he and the twin who might have been Fred proceeded to dance off in an inspired way in search of porridge.

Professor McGonogall followed the twins, as if she worried their dancing might produce some new form of mayhem at breakfast, and left their end of the table in peace.

A moment later, however, and Hermione was wishing that their head of house had lingered, because Draco Malfoy and his two golem companions, Crabbe and Goyle chose that moment to turn up like bad pennies.

Ever since the incident on the train, when Harry had dropped Malfoy with a single sharp punch to the shoulder, Malfoy had been gunning to get some sort of revenge on Harry and Neville. Both Harry and Neville had remained elusive, however, as the only class the Gryffindors had double with the Slytherins was Potions, where the dread eye of Severus Snape kept everyone - lions and serpents alike - from monkeying around. Hermione had a terrible certainty that if Professor Snape caught someone misbehaving in his class, that he would seem them expelled himself as a personal pleasure, even if they were a member of his own house.

Malfoy apparently harbored similar fears, because he had not as yet been bold enough to cause any mischief in Potions class since the first day when Snape had declared his boil-curing potion was 'barely passable.'

But here in the Great Hall, with McGonogall in hot pursuit of the Weasley twins, there was no one around to keep Malfoy in line.

Still, Malfoy seemed a little wary of attacking Harry directly, as if he remembered too well the lightning speed of Harry's reaction when he was pushed too far. Instead, he turned his attention to her noteworthy pile of books and sneered.

"Gryffindors so afraid of today's flying lesson that they're trying some last minute cramming?"

Hermione only scowled at him in response, but across from her Ron sniggered, "Like anyone would be bent enough to think they could learn flying out of a book. I didn't think even you were that stupid, Malfoy."

Hermione immediately regretted that he had eaten four pieces of cake from her precious birthday box.

Malfoy took Ron's comment even more personally than she did, but he apparently thought better of trying to hex Ron right in the middle of breakfast (she was unsure really if Malfoy was advanced enough yet to be able to hex someone, but the sourness of his personality made her bet that he had mastered at least one unpleasant spell, just out of sheer determination).

Instead of trying to hex him, Malfoy leaned down and grabbed Ron's Rememberall from the table, throwing it lightly in the air and then catching it.

A few seats down, Harry Potter had not yet stood, but she knew that he had fixed his piercing green eyes on Draco when she heard him say, "What's the matter, Malfoy? Afraid you'll forget what a jackass you are? Need some reminding?" he asked casually, lightly tapping the side of his head with his sugar-pale wand.

Draco growled in response and might have whipped out his own wand in retaliation had not McGonogall suddenly appeared on the scene again, looking wrathful.

"May I ask the meaning of this?" she demanded, and it seemed like she was ready to dispense immediate punishment if she found answers unsatisfactory.

Luna, who had been calmly eating jam on toast up until this point volunteered very casually, "Mr. Malfoy has taken a friendly interest in a present Mr. Weasley received from his mother. Perhaps he is moved by sentiments toward his own mother, who has not been kind enough to remember him with a present this morning."

At this rambling description McGonogall raised an eyebrow and Draco went very red. Hermione was fairly certain it was with rage more than it was with embarrassment, although it might have been a little of both.

"Pardon me," he said between gritted teeth, and dutifully placed the Rememberall back on the table beside Ron's letter.

McGonogall rounded the three Slytherins up, ready to escort them away from this possible flashpoint, and as they left, Draco shot a murderous glance back at the table full of first year Gryffindors, but McGonogall seized the back of his head with practiced fingers and firmly pointed him forward again.

* * *

The five hours of Potions class never seemed to go by so quickly as Hermione tried not to dread the impending Flying lesson. Even a full day of Slytherins didn't really serve as much of a distraction, although Luna once elbowed her so she would take notice of the looks of dripping venom that Draco Malfoy was sending Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom.

Neither of the boys seemed terribly concerned over the flood of tangible hate emanating from Malfoy, but the professor was none too pleased with Malfoy's lack of attention to his cauldron and told him that if he was unwilling to pay it closer attention, then Snape was unwilling to have him in class.

Malfoy had been shaken up at that, and kept his nose in his kettle from that point on during the lesson, but Luna wisely observed,

"He's plotting something."

* * *

At last the Flying lesson could be avoided no longer, and Hermione found herself traveling almost mechanically with the herd of other Gryffindors as they trooped out onto the neatly-kept sloping green lawns of Hogwarts grounds, following the bony, hawklike Madame Hooch, their flying instructor. The Slytherins were trooping with them, but Madam Hooch's eyes were sharp and golden, and like McGonogall she was unwilling to entertain any shenanigans.

She lined them all up in two short lines, the nine Gryffindors on one side, and the nine Slytherins on the other. She had a clipboard and a whistle which she brandished with authority as she arranged them alphabetically in their lines. Hermione ended up standing between Seamus Finnegan and Neville, who gave her an encouraging smile when he saw that she was biting her lip. She faced off against a serious-looking, dark-haired witch whom she recognized as Theodore Nott's potions partner, Tracey Davis. She was glad that she did not have to face Malfoy's glowering, which she thought might have jinxed her even in the best of moods.

Arranged neatly in front of the students were the school brooms that had been set aside for their use in this class, one broom for each student. After reading up on the various modern broom manufacturers Hermione had asked what brooms the school employed, hoping for a little more information to help put herself at ease while handling her broom. She had heard the Weasley twins telling horror stories about the school brooms to Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan in the common room the evening previous, and this had done little for her nerves. Upon investigation, the school brooms mostly seemed to be a mixture of older generations of Cleansweeps and Comets, although Madam Hooch had informed her before class that all the first year students learned on Cleansweep Sixes that she herself kept in perfect working order.

"They will behave as advertised Ms. Granger," Madam Hooch had said, clapping her heartily on the shoulder. "You needn't worry. Stiff upper lip, girl, and you'll soon find you love it."

She wasn't so sure, but she resolved to do her best. Hermione Granger would not run from a fight, even if she very much _wanted __to__._

Madam Hooch began a series of simple instructions for the handling of the broom that Hermione listened to with great concentration, so that the muscles between her shoulder blades clenched.

When Madam Hooch had them call their brooms to their hands, Hermione found that instead of coming to her hand, her broom only rolled over sadly, as if it had died. She glanced down the line and saw that Luna and Neville both had called their brooms up the first time, and that while Dean Thomas's had not come up by itself, he had practically leaned down and seized it by the shaft, pulling it up the old fashioned way.

If his methods were a bit unorthodox, Madam Hooch apparently commended him on his enthusiasm, as she congratulated him after correcting his grip. She also corrected the grip of Draco Malfoy, who seemed less gratified to receive her advice, although he didn't dare speak back to a teacher.

Hermione continued to try and call her broom up to her hand as Madam Hooch worked on correcting grips. She was mortified to think that the instructor would get to her before she had done more than caused her broom to roll over a few times. Even Tracey Davis, the bookish Slytherin girl across from her now had a firm hand on her broom.

Sensing her frustration, Neville let go of his broom and calmly reached over and covered her outstretched hand with his own. She could feel the easy warmth of his fingers as she tried again, mustering all her determination.

"UP!" she cried like a wild Valkyrie, and up the broom came at last, firm and sure in her hand, so fast that it fairly smarted.

Neville grinned at her and resumed gripping his own broom properly and the tips of her ears turned pink as she realized that the entire class was now staring at her because her broom cry had been furious enough to shake the heavens.

Even Madam Hooch stopped what she was doing to turn in Hermione's direction with a snap of her fingers as she smiled approvingly, "Bravo, Ms. Granger. I'll make a broom racer out of you yet!"

Eventually all their grips were corrected and they all stood with their brooms at the ready while Madam Hooch explained their first exercise.

Hermione was relieved to find out that they weren't expected to fly straight off. She merely wanted them kick off the ground, rise no more than three feet, and then land again.

Hermione gripped the shaft of her broom tightly and repeated Kennilworthy Whisp's Ten Tips For Being a Fabulous Flyer to herself as she waited for Madam Hooch's whistle.

When the sound of Madam Hooch's whistle split the air, the calamity happened too quickly for Hermione to make sense of it at first. In the same moment she kicked off and found herself hovering no more than six inches higher than she had been before, a wild blur of red and black turned a loop-the-loop in the air almost faster than her eyes could follow and then landed with a terrifying crash on the ground behind them.

At the sound of the crash most of the students had touched back down instinctively, as everyone turned to try and see what it was that had happened.

Behind them, one of the brooms was stuck hard in the ground, its twiggy tail standing up like a tragic flagpole. Next to it lay Ron Weasley, face down and very still.

"Good heavens!" cried Madam Hooch, as she rushed to the fallen first year's side and immediately rolled him over.

Ron's face was bloody, but his eyes were open and he was breathing, even if he did look dazed.

"Broke your nose like a champ, I'd say," observed Madam Hooch to the red-headed casualty, then she turned back to the rest of the class. "I've got to take Mr. Weasley to the infirmary. While I'm gone, you better keep both your feet on the ground unless you feel like explaining to your parents why you got expelled from Hogwarts in your first month."

Then, with her arm around the shoulders of the wounded Weasley, Madam Hooch departed the field.

With no teacher in sight, it didn't take long for things to get out of hand, even with the threat of expulsion looming overhead like the Sword of Damocles.

As if he had no fear of reprisals at all, Draco Malfoy scooted out of line on his broom and went to examine the site of Ron Weasley's crash as soon as Madam Hooch was off the field. Cruising around it lightly, turning circles with one of his feet casually dragging the ground around the crash site, where the broom still stuck up like an ominous grave marker, Malfoy laughed out loud.

"What an idiot Weasley is. I was expecting some Gryffindor failures today, but none quite so catastrophic," Draco said admiringly, "I feel like I ought to give him a round of applause."

If Draco had expected the Gryffindors to fly into a rage at this insult so he might have an excuse to fling some hexes, he was disappointed. There was some frustrated shifting about on brooms that were still firmly gripped, and some mutterings, but no one flew into an immediate rage, although Pansy Parkinson and Parvati Patil traded insults with one another.

"Malfoy, don't be a prat," said Dean Thomas, scowling at the Slytherin boy who was still turning circles around the accident site. "Ron's had a bad accident. We wouldn't be crowing if it was you with your head bashed in, although maybe we ought to."

"Well, I wasn't stupid enough to bash my own head in, was I?" Malfoy retorted snidely, then Hermione saw his head turn as his eyes caught sight of something in the grass. He leaned sideways to scoop it up with practiced ease and then tossed it lightly in the air. It glittered in the sunlight like cut crystal.

It was Ron Weasley's Rememberall.

"Maybe what the Weasley's mother wanted him to remember was not to be such a failure," Malfoy chortled, apparently deeply amused by his own joke. "Hope she's not holding her breath on that one," he laughed and kicked off the ground hard, rising quickly in the air. "I think I'll leave this somewhere it's easy for a Weasley to find it - maybe in the henhouse, with all the other chickens!"

But before he could go any further, a blur of black shot into the air and Draco Malfoy found himself face to face with Harry Potter, who sat his broom with a casual grace that made the Slytherin boy look like a knock-kneed clown who was all elbows and ankles.

On the ground, Hermione fairly shrieked, dropping her broom entirely as she stamped her foot. "Come down this instant, Harry! You'll be expelled!"

Then she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to find herself facing Neville, who shook his head.

"There's no point trying to dissuade him now," he said, throwing his hands up in the air idly. "He's got his mind set. Now it's just damage control."

Luna lifted a fair hand to point at the two boys who faced off against one another on their brooms, and Hermione turned back to watch just in time to see Draco pitch the glittering Rememberall as hard as he could, and she soon lost track of it as it ascribed its arc against the brilliant sky.

Like a black arrow Harry shot after the flying crystal, chasing it like a dog on the hunt, and leaving a stunned Malfoy to sink slowly back to the ground as he watched Harry pivot the slow school broom masterfully, at last catching the Rememberall near the ground, after a long, crazy drive straight toward stonework.

When he held the Rememberall up above his head triumphantly, the Gryffindors all cheered.

And then he did something completely unexpected.

Just as Malfoy had done, he flung the Rememberall as hard as he could, this time right back at the crowd of students on the green.

It all happened faster than Hermione could sort out, but then Neville was in front of her, stretched out and dangling with his right hand gripped tighty around his broom, which floated over his head, and his two feet just barely brushing the ground by the toes of his shoes.

In his hand, safe and sound, was the Rememberall.

Harry had thrown it and Neville had caught it, all while keeping his two feet on the ground, if only technically.

Hermione opened her mouth, and then she closed it.

Beside her, Luna Lovegood was politely clapping. "Well done, Navy," she congratulated daintily.

The other Gryffindors were roaring with an enthusiasm that was only curtailed when Professor McGonogall appeared among them suddenly, like a hawk among startled chickens.

"MR. POTTER," she cried, "You reckless, you insane, you _idiotic_ - " She wheeled to see Neville, who was still dangling one-handed from his broom, "And you, Mr. Longbottom! Never, never have I seen such, such," she was still sputtering incoherently, but one thing was for certain to Hermione Granger: they were both very much expelled. "Off your brooms this instant and leave them here," she commanded the two dark-haired boys. Then the professor's sharp eyes were suddenly on her, and she nearly quailed. Perhaps she would be expelled as well! She had shared her tucker box with them after all. She was doomed. But what McGonogall said was, "Ms. Granger, inform Madam Hooch that I have taken charge of these two as their head of house."

There was a chorus of protests among the Gryffindors which Professor McGonogall silenced with a deathly glare.

Several of the Slytherins were smug, but they were careful not to be too smug in front of McGonogall lest she take them away as well, for excessive smugness.

Feeling utterly defeated, Hermione sat down on her bottom on the green grass as McGonogall departed with the two boys.

That was it, then. Her only two possible friends outside the strange Ms. Luna Lovegood were now being deported from her life permanently.

With McGonogall gone, Malfoy positively crowed.

"I suppose now they'll have to go back to whatever hole they crawled out of," he laughed, kicking his feet off the ground again and lolling back on his broom, like it was a chair he had tipped back.

Without even stopping to think what she was doing, Hermione Granger had gotten to her feet and turned to look at Draco Malfoy with the eyes of an avenging angel.

"_Reddo __Adhesit__!_" she fairly shouted with clear command of her spellman's lexicon as she traced a swift motion with the tip of her wand.

Because he was leaning back on his broom, Draco could do nothing to avoid the spell. He lost his balance trying to do so and toppled to the ground, landing on his bottom.

When he tried to stand again, he understood the nature of the spell she had thrown at him.

Draco Malfoy's bottom was stuck to the ground as if it might have been very powerful flypaper. He could not remove himself no matter what he tried, and he could not work a spell to undo the hex she had thrown at him.

Pansy Parkinson looked mortified, and made as if to hex Hermione in retaliation, but Luna extended a wand in her direction coolly, saying, "My father took the pleasure of training me as a duelist since I was four years old. Did yours?"

Pansy glowered at the small blonde girl, but Luna stood firm and entirely unruffled, disinterested even, one arm poised quite beautifully above her head, as if she were ready to dance.

"I am graciously awaiting your opening hex," Luna said politely.

Pansy growled but at last retreated, turning her back on Luna haughtily.

The Gryffindors clustered up as if to defend Hermione and Luna if necessary, all the while snickering at Draco, whose bottom was so affixed to the ground that he could really only flop around enraged, like a turtle on its back. The Slytherins, whether due to sympathy, house spirit, or embarrassment, ended up surrounding Draco.

When Madam Hooch arrived back on the green, this was how she found them.

Of course, it was Luna who spoke up first.

"Madam Hooch, Professor McGonogall left word that she had something urgent to discuss with Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom and escorted them into the school. I am afraid while you were gone Mr. Malfoy could not control his yen to fly, and so for safety's sake Ms. Granger grounded him. I suppose that was the best thing to do, wasn't it? We didn't want a second injury on the first day of flying lessons."

Madam Hooch's gleaming yellow eyes blinked rapidly as she shooed the Slytherins from around Malfoy and unstuck him from the ground.

Once on his feet, Malfoy wheeled to face Hermione, his pale face gone all red and splotchy from all the struggling he had done trying to get himself unstuck from the ground.

"Now you're going to get it, Granger," he shouted angrily, "You filthy little - "

Madam Hooch was between them in an instant, one bony finger with a nail like a talon directly under Draco Malfoy's nose.

"Understand me well, Mr. Malfoy. I have every reason to believe that you chose to flout my authority and fly while I was away, and suspect that if I question all the students here more will accuse you than will defend you," here her voice dropped very low, "Therefore, Mr. Malfoy, _you __are __hanging __by __a __slender __thread __above __expulsion_. It is by _my __good __grace_ that you will not be expelled, Mr. Malfoy, so I suggest you stay in it."

Having successfully cowed Draco, Madam Hooch turned again to Hermione, who in her nervous fear of authority had picked up her broom and was gripping it as if it were the only thing keeping her from death.

"Ms. Granger," Madam Hooch said severely, "I appreciate your desire to avert further serious injury among the student body, but it is against the rules of this school for one student to hex another."

At this, Hermione did quail, and she dropped her eyes to study the ground, blinking hard and trying not to cry, because surely she was also facing expulsion. Maybe she and Harry and Neville would leave school together, like sad, lonely hobos, thrown out of the only home they had ever known.

But then Madam Hooch's voice softened a little as she said, "Still, a bloody good hex, Miss Granger, and quick thinking. I appreciate your cheek," she admitted as Hermione struggled to wipe the tears from her eyes. "But be forewarned that I'm probably the only teacher you'll meet at this school who appreciates cheek," she said sternly.

Hermione sniffled.

"So I'm not expelled?" she asked, uncertain.

"You are not, Ms. Granger," Madam Hooch laughed again with another hearty slap on the back, "I told you. I'm going to make a broom racer out of you."

Then she turned from Hermione and blew her whistle, and had soon lined them up again in two lines, just as if nothing had happened. Hermione saw that Madam Hooch wasn't about to let a valuable class session slip away from her no matter how many serious injuries, possible expulsions, and aborted duels the students racked up.

Next to her, Luna alighted on her broom again, and Hermione noticed that she rode it sidesaddle.

When Hermione asked about it, Luna had answered as if she were the child heir of an imperial throne, "Ladies always ride sidesaddle."

Madam Hooch, who had been going up the line again, checking grips, lightly rapped Luna on the head with her clipboard, as if delivering a mild punishment.

Luna let go of her broom and brought both hands up to cover her head, looking chastised. She sat her broom just fine, side saddle and no hands.

"That's a load of old-fashioned malarkey," said Madam Hooch definitively, "Ladies ride their brooms however they damn well please."

This little nugget of wisdom delivered, Madam Hooch went on to conduct the rest of of the first Flying lesson with no further mishaps.

* * *

As she discovered at dinner time, neither Harry Potter nor Neville Longbottom had been expelled. Miraculously, McGonogall had spared them, although she had given them a stern talking-to.

There seemed to be more to Harry and Neville's broomstick escapades that either was willing divulge, but the mystery was soon cleared up by the Weasley twins, who dropped like stones to the bench on either side of Neville and Harry and began congratulating them with slaps on the back and hair mussings - not that Harry Potter's hair needed any mussing. It was perpetually mussed in its regular state, as far as she could tell.

"So now you've gone and made some more history, eh Harry?" laughed the one on Neville's side, who was helping himself to a slice of ham from the first year's plate. He might have been Fred, Hermione thought. It was so difficult to tell them apart that even if one wasn't sure, the best thing to do was just assign identities to the two of them and not worry overly much which was which.

Hermione was immediately all ears, and leaned inquisitively over her dinner plate as the twin who might have been Fred continued in a stage whisper obviously directed across the table at the two girls, "Harry's made the quidditch team proper. Seeker, he is."

"Youngest player in a century," agreed the twin who was probably George, taking this moment to further ruffle Harry's unruly hair. He continued, giving the two girls a wink, "Of course, being that we're celebrities too, we're also on the quidditch team."

"Best Beaters that Hogwarts has ever known," the probable Fred chimed in humbly, munching affably on a roll pilfered from Neville's plate.

Harry looked somewhat embarrassed, and sighed at the twins. "Captain Wood told me that I wasn't supposed to tell anyone, that it was a secret."

"Of course it's a secret," George nodded.

"So you can expect everybody in the school to know by tomorrow," laughed Fred.

"Secrets don't stay kept at Hogwarts!" George said delightedly, snapping his fingers with a loud pop, as if indicating the time such secrets were likely to stay hidden amidst these old stone walls.

At this joke, Hermione was sure that both Harry and Neville looked somewhat uneasy, but the moment passed quickly as Fred said, "None too shabby for Nevvie either. He's been made a reserve player. Think Ollie's training him as a Keeper. Good luck for us that Ollie himself is the Keeper, right? The way he's been going on about these two boys it's like they hung the moon. I'm sure he'd have sacked one of us in favor of the latest, greatest thing if he could have."

Neville also looked mildly embarrassed, but he admitted, "I do like quidditch."

"You'd better, son!" commanded Fred, who then commenced to wriggle his fingers in a forbidding way. "If you don't, before this season's over you're going to be bloody sick of it, because Ollie's always got the whip to our heels. Prepare to eat, sleep, and breathe quidditch, my boys."

And with that dire warning, after Fred had eaten nearly half the food on Neville's plate, the twins departed in search of greener pastures and other food to swipe.

Shortly after the twins departed, another Weasley arrived to take their place, as Ron, sporting two black eyes and a taped up nose, arrived at dinner and sat down in the seat that George had so recently left vacant. He appeared a little bleary-eyed, as if he had been given pain medication, and slowly pushed some mashed potatoes around his plate for a bit before actually commencing to eat them.

"Are you alright, Ronald?" Luna asked gently, munching on a roll held between two small hands, as if she might have been a squirrel.

"M'fine," Ron muttered into his plate of mashed potatoes.

The rest of the first year Gryffindors at the dinner table had been excitedly discussing the revelation that Harry would play for the house's quidditch team as a first year student, but when Ron arrived at the table, the interest shift to him.

"Rotten luck," comforted Seamus, clapping Ron on the shoulder. "Maybe the most impressive flying we saw today, except for Harry. Before you hit the ground, I mean."

Seamus meant it nicely, but as he was less tactful than Hermione, it came out all wrong, not that he realized it.

Dean Thomas, a little more insightful, rolled his eyes. "It was nasty luck, Ron," he agreed. "But you were brave as anything when you left with Madam Hooch. I broke my nose last year playing football, and I bawled for hours." He laughed, "Really embarrassing. Glad nobody here saw it."

"There's nothing wrong with crying," Luna said simply as she nibbled at her roll. "It is the mark of a sensitive character."

The look on Ron's face as he scowled grumpily at Luna made it clear exactly how much he looked forward to being known as having a sensitive character. While he was still stewing over it, Draco Malfoy and his hulking bodyguards appeared. Draco looked so much like the cat-that-ate-the-canary that Hermione was sure that he had not yet heard the news about the youngest member of Gryffindor's quidditch team. Given that he was now facing down a whole table full of Gryffindors, Hermione thought that it probably wouldn't be long before he found himself acquainted with this information. She was glad that they were sitting in the Great Hall and that the High Table was full of professors and instructors enjoying their dinners, which made a Hot Zone of spontaneous hexes and jinxes less likely to break out.

_Malfoy__. __Poor__, __silly __Malfoy__, _she thought. _You __have __no __idea __what __you__'__re __setting __yourself __up __for__._

Hermione thought about blurting out the news that Harry was now on the quidditch team, thus sparing Malfoy from making a fool out of himself, but then she remembered that she didn't like Malfoy very much at all and had hexed him to the ground that very day. Therefore she resolved to let him sink or swim on his own merits.

"Having a last meal before you're shown the door, are you?" asked Malfoy.

"No," answered Harry mildly, taking a long drink of his milk as he fished into his pockets and produced the Rememberall, which he placed beside Ron's plate. "We haven't been dismissed."

"What?" asked Draco, apparently both astonished and enraged by this revelation.

_How __short __his __memory __is__,_ thought Hermione. _Madam __Hooch __didn__'__t __have __him __expelled __either__, __although __she __knew __he __was __up __on __his __broom__. _But then, perhaps that was because Draco Malfoy expected to be treated differently than Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom.

Ron looked grateful for the return of the Rememberall, which he scrambled to stuff back into one of his pockets.

"We haven't been dismissed," Harry repeated simply, and the flash of his green eyes across the faces of the other Gryffindors at the table indicated that this was the end of the information that would be passed to Draco Malfoy at this time.

_He__'__s __sensible__, _thought Hermione. _He __knows __very __well __that __Draco __will __know __by __tomorrow__, __but __he__'__s __trying __to __avoid __a __scene __at __dinner__. _

Of course, this was the same Sensible Harry Potter who had gone up on a broomstick under threat of expulsion. But then, perhaps what was sensible to Harry Potter was not always sensible to Hermione Granger.

But Draco Malfoy apparently didn't appreciate the fact that Harry Potter was treating him like an extra with no lines, or worse, a part of the scenery, because his voice nearly shook as he challenged Harry, pitching his voice low so that only the students in Harry's near vicinity might hear him.

"Wizard's duel, then Potter. Duel with me tonight at midnight and we'll see who finds himself sorry then!" he hissed between his teeth.

Hermione leaned forward anxiously, ready to dissuade Harry from further senseless misconduct, when he shrugged, a very slight movement of his shoulders.

"No," said Harry evenly.

Hermione's eyes flicked to Neville when she noticed the other boy's slight movement. Draco couldn't see Neville, since Neville was facing away from him, but Neville was laughing silently He soon got in control of himself, though, presumably because he didn't want to further aggravate the already incensed Malfoy.

"_I __demand __satisfaction__, __Potter_," Draco sputtered, and Hermione thought that if his eyes could have glowed like hot coals, he would have caused them to do so.

Harry shrugged again, but then his piercing green eyes flicked suddenly to her and she saw the corner of his mouth turn up wryly as he noted, "Didn't you already lose a duel to Hermione?"

Hermione went pink and suddenly found her plate to be very interesting.

But Malfoy did not go pink. Malfoy turned purple and bit his lip until it bled, and was obviously trying very hard not to start shouting about duels in the middle of the Great Hall. As if even they could sense that Draco was upset, Crabbe and Goyle had commenced cracking their knuckles and looking murderous. At last Draco had the presence of mind to wave a hand behind himself, keeping the two boys from wreaking whatever havoc they had in mind.

Draco raised one trembling finger to point it square at Harry's nose. "You won't duel with me? All of you Gryffindors are cowards. _Cowards_."

Harry didn't appear to be particularly upset by this insult, being that it came from a boy who obviously bullied the weak whenever the chance presented itself and likely cheated to get ahead whenever possible. Hermione was glad that Harry seemed to have a good head on his shoulders at least some of the time, although her cheeks were still pink at the suggestion that she'd bested Draco in a duel.

But there was someone at the table who took Draco's slight very personally, and he turned with stormy eyes to answer Draco, his own voice low.

"You want to duel with somebody, Malfoy? Fine. Let's duel. Midnight, you said? Then name the place," it was Ron Weasley who was apparently unwilling to let the fact that he had two black eyes and a broken nose get in the way of standing up for the house's honor.

Finally being taken seriously by someone, Malfoy's fury subsided into a simmering malevolence. He obviously hadn't meant to fight the Weasley, to whom he had previously been unwilling to give the time of day, but the fact that he got to fight someone apparently satisfied Draco's 'honor,' such as it was.

"Trophy Room," Malfoy said decisively. "Be there at midnight, or I'll know for certain that Gryffindor only has cowards in it."

With that, before he could be embarrassed further, Malfoy led Crabbe and Goyle away.

Hermione looked anxiously toward the High Table, but the whole altercation had passed by so swiftly that it hadn't attracted the notice of any of the professors. She sighed in frustration and then turned her eyes to Ron Weasley.

What was it with the students of this school? They all seemed intent on getting themselves expelled.

"That was stupid of you, Ron," Hermione observed very bluntly.

"No one asked your opinion," Ron glowered back, angrily attacking his roast chicken.

"You'll need a second," Luna observed calmly.

"No," Ron said grumpily, crossing his arms and turning his face away from the two girls. "Don't need one."

"That's your decision," Luna admitted with a slight shrug of her small shoulders.

"He just wants to get you hurt or punished," Hermione went on, frowning. As she continued, her tone became more and more sarcastic. "I don't know if you're aware of _any _of the school rules or not, but we're not even supposed to be out of bed at midnight, let alone wandering around the school and having duels."

Ron shoved his plate into the center of the table and then stomped off toward Gryffindor Tower without another word.

"I think you hurt his feelings," Luna observed.

"I was trying to talk some sense into him," Hermione protested, miffed that Luna seemed to be taking Ron Weasley's side.

"Well," Luna explained gently, with her own characteristic bluntness, "I don't think you chose the most effective way of doing so."

* * *

That night in the Gryffindor common room Hermione ensconced herself in one of the squashy red chairs near the fireplace, making sure that she had a good view of the room's exit so she could surreptitiously watch for Ron Weasley and remind him again what a terrible idea it was to sneak out in the middle of the night.

Her large stack of books she piled on the end table next to her chair, arranged into a mildly precarious tower of knowledge. She had made sure to bring enough books to see her through the whole night if necessary, and had set a glass of water on the end table that stood against the chair across from her, should she require it. She was determined not to budge from her spot until she caught Ron Weasley in the act and convinced him not to be such an idiot.

And she was not alone in her vigil. The chair across from her was occupied by the petite form of Luna Lovegood, who lounged in it comfortably, doing her charms homework idly while swinging her feet back and forth. Luna did not seem to be particularly concerned with Ron Weasley's foolishness, but rather was just enjoying herself while spending time with Hermione.

While Hermione hunkered down like a jungle cat crouched among the bushes, waiting for the correct Weasley to wander by, she also sensibly did her homework. She managed to keep her focus fairly well, despite all the distractions the day had delivered, but at last she could no longer maintain her control over her curiosity, and rolling her Transfiguration homework up, she deftly pulled out a thick volume from near the bottom of her tower of knowledge. The pile of books wobbled alarmingly for a moment, but then stability was slowly restored and they stilled.

As Hermione began to flip through _the __Warring __Ways __of __Wizards__,_ she at last asked Luna a question that had been on her mind since the eventful Flying lesson.

"Luna, is it really true that your father started training you to duel when you were four years old? That seems rather dangerous," Hermione said it as gently as she could, not wishing to offend Luna, who obviously thought the world of her father.

Luna looked up with owlish eyes and said, "That statement was what we call a calculated risk."

"You were bluffing?" asked Hermione, really only half surprised. Luna was so strange, it wasn't surprising that people were perfectly willing to believe the most outlandish things about her.

Luna nodded before turning her attention back to her homework, although she did add, "He began teaching me when I was six."

"Luna, _really_," Hermione complained, but when Luna began to giggle, Hermione could not help but join in, and the two of them sat and laughed together about Luna's illustrious (and entirely fictitious) childhood duelling career.

"I have to admit, bluffing or not, you did have a lot of style when you were standing there," Hermione observed. "I think that's the reason Pansy Parkinson believed you and backed down."

"There are times when style counts for alot," Luna agreed. "I learned the poses by copying them from a book we have in the library at home: _Greatest __Wizarding __Duels __of __the __Last __Five __Centuries_. It's enormously thick, so there were plenty of examples. Some witches and wizards seem to be practically mad over dueling. Is it popular among muggles as well?" she asked curiously.

"Not so much recently," Hermione admitted, and gladly. She wondered what the lives of her parents would be like if they had to be wary of the constant threat of being challenged to duels by angry patients. It would probably make being a dentist considerably more dangerous.

Hermione thought about Luna's earlier observation for a while. Then she asked, "Do you think you might show me some of the other poses in the book, Luna? If I have to bluff someone down to avoid a real confrontation in the future, I have to be confident while doing it."

Luna nodded graciously to this request, and rolling up her own homework, stood before the fire, beckoning Hermione to follow suit.

Then she struck an alarming pose that looked like it might have been one of the Weasley twins' interpretive dances, "This is the stance of Gavin the Ghoulish," she explained.

Hermione imitated Luna's outlandish pose the best that she could, and Luna offered commentary to improve her form until she was satisfied with it and changed poses again suddenly, calling for Hermione to follow suit.

"Derek the Dread," Luna explained.

And so the two girls passed some time together like this, taking all sorts of poses, some serious, some hilarious, some mildly painful, and some so bizarre that Hermione was sure that Luna just made them up off the top of her head, although the smaller girl insisted that she hadn't and that they were all authentic. For a while their display attracted the attention of several of the other Gryffindors in the house, including Fred and George, who struck poses with them for a while. Hermione knew she looked silly, particularly when she saw Lavender Brown roll her eyes and pull Parvati Patil away to gossip, likely over the two of them, but Hermione didn't care. She and Luna were enjoying themselves, and she didn't even mind when the Weasley twins teased them over their very serious undertaking. At least when they teased, you knew that they liked you.

Finally, both the girls got tired, and the teacher and her pupil both dropped back into their respective chairs. By this time it was nearly ten o'clock and most of the Gryffindors had already gone up to bed, to sleep, to study, to gossip, or to loaf.

As the hands crept round the clock face, even Luna dropped off, sprawled in her chair with her bare legs dangling over one arm and her curly mop of blonde hair dangling over the other. Her eyes were open a sliver, but Hermione knew from experience that Luna was dead to the world. She would sleep for at least six hours before waking, like a fairy-tale princess under a curse more inconvenient than dreadful. Not even shaking her would wake her up. On a previous morning, when Hermione had worried that Luna would be late to breakfast, she had tried and shaken Luna until her teeth rattled to no avail. When Luna was determined to be asleep, nothing could wake her up, likely not even Armageddon.

When it was a quarter past eleven o'clock, Hermione looked up from her book when she heard the sound of stealthy shuffling feet.

There was Ron Weasley, with his hand on the edge of the portrait hole. She had to admit that he was quite good at sneaking around to have almost gotten by her while she was explicitly on watch. When he saw that she saw him, he frowned.

Then she opened her mouth to tell him just what she thought of him, but before she could say a word he dashed through the portrait hole, letting it crash closed behind him.

"What a sneak!" fumed Hermione, because now she was all out of sorts because she hadn't be able to give him the lecture that she'd wanted to give him.

That he had obviously run off specifically to avoid the lecture that she had prepared made her even more cross. A good boy should sit and take whatever lecture was coming to him, clearly!

Well, she had certainly failed at keeping Ron Weasley out of trouble. Feeling mildly awful she went to sit on the cold stone floor near the portrait portal and thought about what she ought to do next time. Maybe she would brandish her wand and take a dueling pose.

She had sat there for about ten minutes feeling glum, her arms wrapped around her knees and her head bent, when she looked up to find herself face to face with Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom.

"Oh, good grief," Hermione cried, "Not you too! But you told Malfoy you wouldn't duel him!"

"And I won't," agreed Harry Potter, looking resolute.

"Then why on earth are you both going to sneak out of Gryffindor Tower?" she demanded.

"Because of Ron," Harry explained simply. "Ron's wandering around out there now because of me. I pushed Malfoy further than I should have, and now Ron may get himself hurt or into trouble."

"But it's stupid Ron's own stupid fault," Hermione argued, feeling tired and very high strung. She didn't want to burst into tears before the two boys, but feeling very overwrought because her own attempts to keep Ron out of trouble had failed, she was worried she was going to. "And after you were nearly expelled today already! Can't you leave well enough alone?" she asked, sniffling alarmingly.

Harry only stared at her calmly, and she felt the weight of his brilliant green eyes.

Neville smiled at him fondly, if a bit exasperatedly, and then shook his head at her. "No," he said, leaning down to offer her a hand, "He can't. Now up you come."

She accepted Neville's hand and he helped her to her feet.

Harry said only, "You hexed Malfoy. I thought you'd understand," and then he was gone through the portrait hole.

Neville lingered for a moment, trying to offer Hermione a suitable explanation, as if he thought he owed it to her.

"Harry feels responsibility very heavily. He's not trying to show off, I promise. He's just worried about Ron. Harry usually worries about other people more than he worries about himself," Neville admitted.

"But _that__'__s __dangerous_," she protested, still sniffly.

Neville smiled ruefully and said, "It is, which is why _I _try to worry about Harry."

And then he was gone through the portrait hole after Harry Potter, and before she knew what she was doing, she had chased after them.

When Harry, who was waiting in the corridor for Neville, saw that she had tagged along behind them, he frowned.

"You ought to go back to bed," he said in a low voice. "There's no reason for you to get into trouble too, if we get caught."

"Then let's not get caught," she hissed back, gaining control of herself.

Harry frowned, but Neville gave her an easy smile, and so in a small bunch they all made their way toward the Trophy Room, creeping along, sometimes holding on to one another's sleeves and shirttails.

At night, Hogwarts was like a tomb, or the forgotten temple of an ancient religion. Although it wasn't that late - just a little past eleven thirty by her watch - the castle was silent except for the muffled conversations of distant portraits and the slow grind of stone as the castle occasionally rearranged itself. Surely some of the teachers must still be awake at this hour, but Hermione saw no signs of anyone living, which was fortuitous in this case, as none of them wanted to be caught out of bed by anyone. It was also fortunate that they didn't see anyone dead, she thought. She didn't think Sir Nicholas would have turned them in, especially not if they had explained they were going out for the express purpose of dragging one of their own back to bed, but she didn't think they count on the magnanimity of any of the other ghosts in the castle, and she was sure if Peeves caught them, he'd make more noise than a marching band.

At last, after some minutes of wandering upstairs and downstairs and through doors and corridors, they found themselves at last in the hallway that lead to the Trophy Room. As they crept along on silent feet, Harry suddenly waved a hand backwards to warn them to stop.

He had heard something.

Straining her ears, Hermione heard it too: a low murmuring noise that was coming from this very hallway!

She froze between Harry and Neville, and Harry raised one finger silently to lips before mouthing the word, "Lumos," so low that not even she could hear it.

A tiny spark appeared at the tip of his wand like it a dying ember, and they all leaned forward nervously as he silently thrust it into the darkness of the corner ahead of them. Hermione strained her eyes against the night, trying to make out what the murmuring shape was.

The small ember-light lit up a red head nodding slowly back and forth.

It was Ron Weasley. He was curled up in a corner near the Trophy Room, sound asleep. She checked her watch again. It was now eleven forty-five.

Hermione was exasperated, but happy that he had been recovered so easily. "That silly idiot," she sighed tiredly. "It's whatever pain medication that Madam Pomfrey gave him for his broken nose that made him fall asleep in this drafty corner. I'd like to hope it's also what made him accept that stupid duel."

Harry bent to gently shake Ron awake.

As he was acquainting Ron with his current situation, they all froze again, because they could hear the trilling purr of a familiar familiar.

It was Mrs. Norris, and she was not alone, because answering her trill was the raspy voice of Argus Filch.

"That's it, my lovely," he was crooning to her. "We'll find them, won't we my darling? They're hiding in here somewhere, but they won't get away from us. They won't. They won't."

Realizing how close to peril he was, Ron made a faint gurgling sound before clapping his hands over his mouth. In the open archway of the corridor they saw the small shape of Mrs. Norris turn her lamp-like eyes in their direction, and then before she knew what had happened, Harry Potter had grabbed her by one hand and Ron by the other and was off in a dead run, dragging them behind him like rag dolls.

To an outside observer they must have looked hilariously like paper men cut out to hang on a christmas tree, with Neville and Harry both with vise grips on the arms of Ron, who was still quite loose from his medication, and Harry's other hand fast in hers, holding onto her like she was dangling over the edge of a cliff while they exchanged tearful confessions.

There were no tearful confessions, however, and the only tears at all came from Hermione, who ran until she thought her heart was going to burst.

At last Harry seemed to think they had lost Filch in their mad flight through the halls and he allowed them to slow down, but just as they were catching their breath they heard a nearby doorknob rattling.

Terrified that they were about to be caught red-handed, Hermione did the only thing she could think of: she forced the lock of the door they were standing by with a spell, and they all piled inside and tried to breathe as slowly and as deeply as possible to evade capture.

As the seconds slipped by, Hermione started to relax, but then Ron Weasley was sputtering. Hermione turned to tell him to be quiet, lest they be caught, but then she realized what it was that Ron was sputtering at.

All three of the boys were staring at it with a mixture of horror and admiration, more of the former than of the latter, she guessed.

It was a huge animal, one of the largest she had ever seen in her entire life. It was bigger than an elephant and covered with brown shaggy fur. It smelled terrible, but the terrible smell was a familiar terrible smell, musky, dirty, stinky, like a huge, unwashed - and then it opened three pairs of eyes simultaneously.

"Cerberus," she yelped, "_Cerberus_."

It was a giant, foul-smelling, three-headed dog.

Harry moved immediately to push her behind him, and then he was nearly shouting at Neville.

"What do you use on a giant three-headed dog?"

"I don't know," Neville hollered back in frustration, "Probably the same thing you use on a two-headed dog!"

While the two boys argued about what to do about the dog, who was clearly debating which of them to gobble up first, Hermione struggled with the old latch of the door, finally forcing it open again and tumbling through it. Ron scrambled out after her and Harry and Neville backed out together, pulling the door closed behind them.

With weak knees, Hermione spelled the door locked again, and no longer caring if they were caught or not, the four would-be adventurers all straggled back to Gryffindor Tower, where they were admitted by a yawning Fat Lady. Miraculously, they made it without being detected by any other authority figures.

Ron Weasley apparently felt quite defeated by the experience, because he was the first to excuse himself and head up the stairs to bed.

Hermione sat weakly down in her chair by the fire and looked at her watch. It was twelve fifteen.

Their whole adventure had taken only an hour, although to Hermione it felt like years had disappeared from her life.

In the warmth of the common room, her color slowly returned, and she began to feel better. In the chair across from her, Luna still slept soundly.

"Feeling a little better?" asked Neville.

She nodded, and then slowly stood to gather up her tottering pile of books. When she did, they at last crashed to the ground, and Harry Potter danced backward to avoid getting his toes smashed by the heaviest volumes. One book landed on his feet despite his evasive maneuvers and he leaned down to pick it up idly.

It was _Curing __Your __Fear __of __Falling_. The tips of her ears went pink.

He turned it over in his hands slowly and then looked up at her thoughtfully.

"First years aren't supposed to have their own broomsticks," Harry admitted. "But Professor McGonogall has said that I'll be allowed one for quidditch." He paused a little awkwardly. "When the season starts, if you'd like me to give you some slow, easy lessons on handling a broom before the practices, I'd be happy to do it."

"You don't think it's stupid that I'm afraid of flying?" Hermione asked nervously, the pink still dark in her cheeks.

Harry shook his head. "Everybody's afraid of something," he said.

"Like three-headed dogs," Neville muttered as he leaned down to begin picking up her books, and Hermione smiled, relieved.

"Well," she began shyly, "If it won't be too much trouble."

"It won't be any trouble," Harry assured her, now comfortably in his element again. "Besides," he grinned, "I bet you're more afraid of failing Charms class than you are of falling off a broom."

Hermione had to admit that this was probably true.

After having picked up her books and stacked them on the end table again, Neville turned his attention to Luna, who was still sleeping soundly in the armchair by the fire, her mouth wide open.

"We can't leave her sleeping like that," Neville said with some certainty.

"If we do, a spider might crawl in her mouth," Harry agreed, coming to stand near Neville.

Hermione rolled her eyes at them, "Harry, that's just an urban legend. Spiders don't crawl into the mouths of sleeping people any more than they crawl out of drains."

Harry turned to look at her very seriously and said, "Once, Navy and I slept upstairs in the attic. He fell asleep before I did with his mouth wide open and - "

Hermione held both her hands up and said, "I get the idea!" before the dark haired boy's graphic description could continue.

Harry shrugged.

"You ought to wake her," suggested Neville. "It's time we all got to bed."

Hermione sighed. "You can't wake her," she explained. "She may as well be dead until she decides to wake up on her own. I'll carry her up to the dormitory and put her in bed myself."

Neville said, "I'd be happy to help, if you need it."

Hermione shook her head.

"No, the stairs to the girls' dormitories are bewitched. If a boy tries to climb more than four steps it'll set off an alarm and the steps will transfigure into a slide," she explained, struggling with the flopping Luna until she got her piggy-back, with Luna's loose arms draped over her shoulders. "It's all in _Hogwarts__: __A __History_," she finished.

"I'm glad I didn't find out the hard way," Neville said, clearing realizing he'd made a close escape.

"That would be something to explain," agreed Harry.

"What about your books?" asked Neville, for Hermione clearly could not carry Luna and the magnificent pile of reading material at the same time.

Hermione yawned cavernously.

"I'll worry about it in the morning," she said.

And she did.


	5. Lesson Four: A Plan Succeeds

**Hermione Granger and the Boys Who Lived**

_A Harry Potter Reimagining_

_Harry Potter x Hermione Granger; Neville Longbottom x Luna Lovegood_

**_By Gabihime at gmail dot com_**

_Lesson Four: In Which a Plan at First Fails and Then Succeeds Through No Merit of Its Own_

* * *

Following the incident with the monstrous three-headed dog, Hermione Granger found she had quite a lot to think about.

First there was the question of why such an obviously dangerous creature was being housed inside the school where, if it were to escape, it could do the most damage possible to both school property and the hapless student body. Hermione didn't think that one locked door was any precaution against skyrocketing student mortality either, since first year students learned the Unlocking Charm and said charm had to be applied regularly to all sorts of doors just going about one's daily life at Hogwarts, even if one had little desire for adventure.

She did recall that the Headmaster had announced that the third floor corridor was off-limits to all students who did not wish to die a painful death (and death by the slavering jaws of the three-headed dog would most certainly be painful, she thought, so this was not false advertising) but what with the way Hogwarts was constantly rearranging itself, even an observant student never knew when when they were going to be dumped out, unsuspecting, onto the forbidden corridor, or take one too many wrong turns and end up puppy kibble. Theoretically Argus Filch was strategically stationed at various points around the school to keep students from being devoured, but given his usual affection for the students, Hermione suspected that he might be willing to overlook a few students disappearing into the belly of the great brown dog. There were times when she thought Filch would be happiest if the school had absolutely no students in it whatsoever. Then he would be free to roam the halls in wraithlike ownership, with only Peeves to threaten his peace of mind.

Whatever the caretaker's secret wishes might be, Hermione was certain that the faculty and staff had a deep concern for the safety of the students, if only as a safeguard for their future employment. The students weren't allowed in the Forbidden Forest, for example, because it was filled with quite a lot of very dangerous creatures (she knew this thanks to her beloved _Hogwarts__: __A __History_, naturally). She had heard that the Weasley twins often tried to sneak in anyway, but the fact that they both still in one piece lead her to believe that they were generally unsuccessful. As far as Hermione could tell, even considering that this was a very unusual school that taught witches and wizards, the professors were in some way quite a mundane lot when it came to student welfare. They generally acted as professors ought to: discouraging rule-breaking, considering student safety paramount, and encouraging rational, sensible behavior. Therefore, she was unwilling to write the presence of the monstrous dog and the threat of a wild student killing-spree off as sheer negligence on the part of the professors.

If the dog was in the school, then it was there for a very good reason, one whose benefits outweighed the considerable risk involved in keeping him near so many curious and mischievous children, of which the irascible Weasley twins were but two.

Considering the dog's intensely hostile attitude toward trespassers, the explanation that made the simplest sense was that the dog in the third floor corridor was guarding some thing, some person, or some place.

Sitting on Luna's bed the next morning amid the piles of very unusual stuffed animals, Hermione narrated the story of Ron's tragically unsuccessful duel, their upsetting encounter with the three-headed dog, and her own suspicions concerning such.

When she was done, Luna said, "I wonder whether it's proper to call a three-headed dog by a singular pronoun. If it's got three heads, wouldn't using a plural pronoun be more polite?"

Hermione wasn't sure.

"I suppose it would be more polite if the three heads all have different identities," Hermione said thoughtfully.

"But even if the three-headed dog has some sort of collective consciousness, I still think it would be more polite to refer to them as a 'they' rather than an 'it,'" said Luna, looking like a beddy-bye doll in her lace-trimmed nightgown and mobcap. Ensconced in her throne of stuffed animals, the petite girl might have been mistaken for a toy herself.

Hermione thought deeply about Luna's point, but then she was waving her hands in frustration.

"Luna, you're missing the point! Whether we call it an 'it' or a 'they' there's an enormous three-headed dog locked in a hallway upstairs," she paused, because in Gryffindor Tower they were actually quite a bit higher than the third floor, "Downstairs," she corrected, "It's there for a reason, and the only reason I can think of is that it's guarding something."

"Perhaps the thing that is being guarded is the dog itself," suggested Luna mildly.

This stopped Hermione cold, because it was something she hadn't considered previously. Perhaps Luna was right and the dog wasn't guarding something but rather the dog was _being __guarded_. She wondered how common a three-headed dog was. There were all sorts of practically priceless ingredients for potions and magical artifacts that came from highly limited sources, and possibly the three-headed dog was one of them. If the ingredient had a very short shelf-life, then it might stand to reason that the dog had to be kept close at hand so the ingredient could be used before it spoiled.

Luna was still talking.

"It is possible that the dogs are his beloved childhood pets, and that he is keeping them here at Hogwarts in secret because he does not want to turn them over to the authorities. Such dogs as those would quite obviously be put down for their aggressive natures, or at the very least taken into custody and separated from their owner. They sound quite obviously capable of committing aggravated assault, and maybe even aggravated digestion. The Ministry is very strict over what animals can and cannot be kept as pets. That is a very tragic story," finished Luna very seriously, hugging her strange griffon stuffed animal tightly, as if she feared it too might be taken away by the authorities. "It pulls at my heartstrings."

Hermione blinked hard. As she had tuned in to Luna's ramblings part-way through her explanation, she had no idea exactly who Luna had cast in her version of the _Dog of Flanders_. She made an educated guess.

"Luna, I very seriously doubt that dog was Headmaster Dumbledore's beloved childhood pet - "

But Luna was already shaking her head, "Of course it wouldn't be," she said, "Professor Dumbledore is already horribly old. I'm sure any childhood pet of his is only a fond memory by now," Luna explained very gently, as if she were willing to be infinitely patient with Hermione.

Hermione was slightly cross with Luna's gentle condescension when she demanded, "Well, who do you think is the owner of that horrible thing, then?"

Luna again looked mildly surprised, as if the deduction were obvious.

"Professor Snape, of course."

Unbidden, the picture of a dour seven year old Severus Snape in a black sailor suit and short pants with a lollipop in one hand and the leash of a slavering, fanged, three-headed puppy in the other came into her mind. She covered her eyes with her palms and then pressed the heels of her hands hard into her eyes until they saw stars, but still she saw the dolefully frolicking Snape and the horrible puppy.

She thought she might cry.

Luna patted her on the shoulder as she slipped out of bed to go about preparing herself for breakfast.

"It is a very moving story, but you ought not cry. There's always the chance it will have a happy ending."

With those comforting words imparted, Luna excused herself to the bathroom and left Hermione sitting on her bed, trying not to think of Professor Severus Snape and his most beloved childhood pet.

* * *

Although the image of Professor Snape and his horrible puppy sometimes flashed up in her mind like the memory of a traumatic experience, Hermione had managed to forcefully crowd it from her brain by the end of the week.

After all, the gigantic three-headed hound and what it guarded were perhaps the least of the mysteries she was confronted with. Hermione was sure it was guarding something now. She had dispensed with the idea that it was the source of rare magical component after a trip to the library. She had never entertained Luna's poignant theory that it was a beloved pet being hidden from the authorities. The dog was definitely guarding something, but who or what that something might be was at the moment beyond her ken.

She had no desire to go back to the forbidden corridor and investigate because although her acquaintance with the terrible dog had been thankfully brief, it had been more than enough for one lifetime, she thought. If she pressed her luck with the dog, she thought he might just end up being the _last _acquaintance of her lifetime.

If the faculty had put the dog there to guard something or someone, then that thing or person was obviously valuable and obviously under some sort of threat. She didn't think she was in any position to second-guess the plans of her teachers, so until further information surfaced she decided that it would be best just to let sleeping three-headed dogs lie.

It wasn't as if she was _giving __up_ on the mystery of the three-headed dog, it was more like she was letting it percolate.

And besides, there were much more pressing mysteries right underfoot, mysteries whose investigation would not cost her life and limb (hopefully).

Subjects of Investigation: Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom.

First there was their uncanny appearance on the train bound for Hogwarts.

That they had appeared on the train meant that they had received letters of invitation to the 1991 school year, which made perfect sense, as they were of age. If they had received letters, then that meant that their names had appeared on this year's student list. The invitation letters were magically generated, as was the list itself, but the Headmaster and presumably the Deputy Headmaster would have had access to the student list. At least the administration had known Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom had been invited to school, meaning that they were still alive and likely to resurface.

Hermione had kept abreast of current events in the wizarding world for the entire summer previous, and nowhere had she seen even a hint about either Harry or Neville, let alone any suggestion that they might be attending school for the autumn term. As far as the wizarding world was concerned, they were the Boys Who Lived and then had vanished.

That meant that the administration had thoughtfully withheld newsworthy information concerning their enrollment in Hogwarts. That was reasonable enough, in Hermione's opinion. The school's first duty was to the sacred occupation of education, which included considering the welfare of the students. She wouldn't have thought very highly of a school that had widely publicized the enrollment of particular students, even if they were high profile individuals.

So while the administration and possibly some of the professors had known Harry and Neville had accepted the invitation to Hogwarts and were likely to appear on Platform 9¾, they had not gone to the press about it.

But despite this attitude of discretion, the issues of the Daily Prophet that arrived during the first week of school were filled with dozens of speculative articles about Harry and Neville and their celebrated new careers as students at Hogwarts, including some blurry photographs of the boys with the sorting hat on their heads that Hermione thought might have been taken through the windows of the Great Hall. There had even been a photo of Neville helping Luna to her feet, with the caption of 'Love Blossoming so Soon?' but in the photo Neville was identified as Harry Potter, and Luna was tagged as Daphne Greengrass.

Tabloid reporting aside, one thing was very clear: Neville and Harry's appearance on the train to Hogwarts had caught the wizarding world completely flat-footed, so much so that they very first photographs to surface of the two boys were taken after they had already arrived on Hogwarts' grounds. As their dates of birth were common knowledge, informed persons would have likely suspected that if the two boys were to reappear, September 1st 1991 at Platform 9¾ would have been the best chance of spotting them.

Considering the coverage the Daily Prophet gave the boys over the first two weeks of school, utilizing ill-gotten, blurry photographs - until the photographer was apprehended and summarily ejected from Hogwarts grounds - Hermione was certain that the newspaper had had photographers deployed in Diagon Alley and likely on the train platform itself in hopes of catching an early and exclusive glimpse of the two boys.

That no one had captured even a suspect photo was perhaps the biggest clue that there was more to the two boys than they were willing to let on. Neville had said that his grandmother had wanted to spare them a lot of ugly publicity, but _wishing _to avoid publicity and _actually _avoiding publicity were two separate and distinct things.

And somehow the two boys had gotten onto the Hogwarts Express and into her compartment without being photographed, or possibly even seen by _anyone_.

Not even the ample securities of Hogwarts had kept the Daily Prophet's photographers off of the boys once they had arrived at school. No matter what sort of formidable lady Neville's grandmother was, Hermione doubted that her home in the country was more secure than Hogwarts.

And yet no photographs of either Neville Longbottom or Harry Potter existed from the period of October 31st, 1981 until September 1st, 1991. She knew this for a fact because she had consulted a dozen books on the subject and read all the footnotes, one of which confirmed this fact quite succinctly as a distinct oddity of the case.

It was as if the two boys had simply disappeared from the face of the earth that Halloween night, and had reappeared on the train to Hogwarts.

And it wasn't only that.

There was also the fact that whenever they were asked about their so-called "simple country upbringing," they were always very pleasant and always very bland. They were vague about dates, locations, and above all, individuals. Neither Harry nor Neville ever referred to anyone in their family by name, instead using nicknames and hilarious monikers that communicated no useful information whatsoever. Whenever one boy worried that the other was being too specific about their childhood, he would give a brief signal, and the conversation would suddenly drift into safer and less informative territory.

The two boys managed to do this again and again because although they were well-liked among the Gryffindors for being stand-up boys with good senses of humor and friendly attitudes, they were also somewhat distant. At times it seemed as if they communicated in their own language, like twins with a supernatural connection, and neither boy seemed interested in having close friends or confidants outside the other. If the girls of the first year Gryffindor girl's dormitory broke up into two easy groups, one containing Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, and the other containing she and Luna, then the boys dormitory broke into two groups as well, one which contained Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Ron Weasley, and the other which counted as its members only Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom.

It wasn't as if they didn't get along well enough with the other boys. They laughed and joked and such, but they also kept themselves apart. They were always carefully genial, but they seemed to have an infinite number of ways between the two of them for gently putting other people off.

Strangely, when it came to she and Luna, it was as if their wires were crossed. Sometimes the boys successfully put the two of them off, just as they put off everybody else, but sometimes they did not. If was as if they couldn't decide between the two of them what they ought to do in regard to she and Luna. And so Hermione and Luna found themselves in a strange sort of limbo, somewhere between being friends and just being classmates.

This particular element of their mysterious behavior was the one that aggravated Hermione the most (besides their frustrating academic performance, which she was almost positive was contrived, based on her observations). She had already counted the two of them as her friends, which made the number a most impressive three. If she could not count them, that left her only with Luna. While numbers didn't seem to be the best measure when considering friendships, Hermione had a hard time thinking of her attempts to make bosom friends successful if she had only really made one friend out of three.

It wasn't as if they _weren__'__t _friends, but it wasn't exactly as if they _were _either.

They were _almost _friends.

It was enough to make her want to give them a piece of her mind, not just for herself, but also for Luna, who obviously also wanted to count her friends on more than one finger. (No matter what Luna said, Hermione refused to count Mrs. Norris and Argus Filch as Luna's friends.)

And so, feeling cross and frustrated one day after being gently rebuffed, Hermione formulated a plan of action. If the two boys were going to behave as if she wasn't really and truly their friend, then she was going to give them an icily cold shoulder and ignore them completely. This plan was not based so much in knowledge of human psychology as it was based in plain spite and stubbornness. Hermione was angry because she and Luna were being shut out, so she would shut out the two of them and see how they liked it.

But the plan was not as immediately successful as Hermione might have hoped.

Most frustrating perhaps was that they did not seem to immediately notice that she was giving them the cold shoulder. While she couldn't help but notice every time she explicitly ignored them, as she was doing the ignoring, they were slower to pick up on the change in her behavior, although she tried her best to make it as obvious as possible.

The first time they really seemed to notice was one day in Defense Against the Dark Arts, when Professor Quirrell called on Neville and Harry while they were both sound asleep. Instead of kicking the back of Harry's chair like she normally did to wake him up, she just sat silent and motionless and waited for Professor Quirrell to realize that the two boys were both asleep and take punitive measures. Luna, who realized with a start what Hermione was up to, struggled to kick the back of Neville's chair herself, but as her legs were too short she had to resort to more drastic measures.

Shockingly, she heaved her book into the air and threw it at Neville. It rebounded off the back of his nodding head and landed with a startling crash that woke even Harry. Neville rubbed the back of his head ruefully while answering Quirrell's question and then Luna politely apologized for having dropped her book. She probably needn't have apologized, because her spectacular "accident" was by far the most interesting thing that happened in class that day. Harry had turned around to look at Hermione questioningly then, but she had stuck her nose up in the air and turned her face away, leaving him bewildered.

Luna had frowned a little, but had said nothing.

And so, some time passed, while Hermione occasionally thought about the three-headed dog, stewed over the two boys and a list of the imagined grievances she had with them, and mostly spent her time studying, reading, and sitting with Luna in the library or the Gryffindor Common Room.

Frustratingly, Luna was not keen on embracing her plan, so it was sometimes difficult to keep up with it, like when the two boys sat across from them at mealtimes, or at the same table in the Common Room while they worked on their homework. Luna chatted amiably with the two boys on these occasions, although Hermione continued to refuse to consort with the enemy.

She had forgotten that the entire point of her exercise was to make them more friendly toward the two of them, and so when they were friendly she repulsed them as hard as she could.

Harry seemed dreadfully confused by her behavior, and Neville hovered somewhere between mildly embarrassed and mildly apologetic. She learned later that Luna had told them both the outrageous lie that she was ignoring them because she had decided it was unlucky to talk to two boys who were born on _almost _the same day.

* * *

On a certain day just a little past the middle of October, Hermione surprised Luna before breakfast again, bringing a prettily wrapped package to her as she sat in state, amid her stuffed animals.

"Happy Birthday!" Hermione said, feeling most pleased with herself, because giving birthday gifts was surely one of the pleasures of friendship.

Upon seeing the gift, Luna turned pink and she retreated under her blankets until only her eyes and the top of her mussed blonde head were seen.

Hermione sat on the foot of Luna's bed and patiently waited for the little sea anemone of a girl to emerge.

"It's your gift, you know," Hermione remarked casually. "You ought to open it."

Slowly Luna reappeared from under the blankets, her cheeks still very pink.

"You remembered," she said softly, although she didn't move. She still seemed reluctant to touch the gaily wrapped present, as if it were a holy relic.

Hermione could not help but look a little smug.

"Of course," she said. "I never forget something that I've heard. You told us on the train that your birthday was October the 16th and today is October the 16th. Happy Birthday."

"This is the first day that the Sun is in the constellation of Libra, according to the sidereal calendar," Luna explained, "My life is lived under the influence of Aphrodite."

Hermione sighed and turned her palms up, a sign of mild distaste.

"I still don't believe in horoscopes and astrology and predestination," she reminded Luna. "I may be a witch, but that doesn't mean I have to be a crackpot."

Luna shrugged, apparently unworried that Hermione might have indirectly indicated that she herself was a crackpot. "All information is useful at one time or another," she said sagely, "Therefore it is wise to learn what you believe to be true as well as what you believe to be false."

"Open your present," commanded Hermione, unwilling to listen to any more of Luna's philosophizing, even if it was her birthday.

Luna obediently did as she was told, using her short fingernails to carefully pry up the tape along the edges of the wrapping paper. Hermione watched slightly dumbfounded as Luna very carefully skinned the package and the wrapping paper came away in one clean piece, only a little the worse for wear despite having been wrapped around a gift and carried by an owl.

Luna carefully set the wrapping paper aside and Hermione realized suddenly that she was intent on keeping it, and her own cheeks flushed a little. She felt a little silly, because her mother had picked out the wrapping paper and wrapped the gift, but she had done so because Hermione had asked her to. Luna was intent on keeping every last memento of this first birthday gift from Hermione that she could. The powerful but unstated affection of this act was enough to make Hermione curl her toes hard inside her shoes in a failed attempt to keep herself from turning pink.

When Luna at last got the box open and saw the present that Hermione had chosen for her, she looked up with eyes filled either with stars or tears, and then completely unexpectedly she scrambled across the bed toward Hermione like a little crab and threw her arms around Hermione's middle, sniffling.

"He's perfect," she cried, squeezing Hermione as hard as she could with her spindly little arms. "I'm going to call him Octavius!"

It was a stuffed dragon, green and silvery with webbed wings like a bat, about the size of a small cat, but based on Luna's reaction, she might have given her a diamond the size of a fist, a tub full of rubies, or an entire library crammed with books.

"Hermione," Luna confessed, still sniffling into Hermione's stomach as she held onto her and the stuffed dragon at the same time, "You're the best friend I've ever had."

Hermione turned pink again, and struggled to find the right words to say, but in the end she failed, so she answered Luna in the simplest way possible, by putting her arms around her and hugging her back.

* * *

As the days crept on toward the end of October, Hermione found she had more than three-headed dogs, mysterious boys, and bosom friendships to worry about.

Approaching quickly was a dreaded enemy, one who had to be dispatched brutally if she was to survive her tenure at Hogwarts: mid-term examinations.

While some students might have said that Hermione had little to worry about when facing down such an enemy, since her homework marks and practical class performance were the top, or nearly the top in every single one of her classes, Hermione was not a girl to be careless, certainly not when her standing as resident know-it-all was at stake.

So she studied very seriously, writing review cards for herself, making up and answering practice questions of her own devising, and rereading all of the chapters of the textbooks they had so far covered. Her utter devotion to her schoolwork in preparation for the coming exams had elicited some moans from Weasley-Thomas-Finnigan alliance already, who had gently suggested that she ought to develop a social life. Of course, never being one to take an insult lying down due to her winning personality and her wide stubborn streak, Hermione had nagged them back, reminding them that their grades were suspect in just about every subject.

They had all three turned a little green at this unwanted revelation of the unfortunate truth. Dean had shrugged his shoulders, as if he had absolutely no control over his grades, Seamus had begun to look decidedly uncomfortable, as if evaluating what his mother might think of his class performance, and Ron had simply rolled his eyes at her before departing from her table in the Common Room in disgust.

Sitting across the table from her, a library book on charms open in front of him, Harry Potter laughed good-naturedly as they left, joking, "Ninny always says that the people who do the most studying are always the ones who need it the least, and the ones that do the least studying are always the ones who need it the most."

Hermione smiled at him then, like they were two comrades sharing a private joke, until she remembered that she was ignoring Harry Potter. Then she frowned and turned her eyes back to her piles of notes.

Harry was baffled.

* * *

By the end of October all the first years could talk about was Halloween and the great Halloween feast that Hogwarts threw every October 31st. As the gauntlet of midterm examinations had by now been run, the harrowed first years felt they deserved a feast day to recuperate.

Of course, with midterms past, all Hermione could think about were looming end of term exams, which would come right before the Christmas holidays. She had done well on the first set of exams, but this was no reason to get cocky, she thought. After all, by the spring term she wanted to be well on her way to learning all there was in the _Standard __Book __of __Spells__ (__Grade __Two__)_. If she got lazy and slacked off, then inevitably someone else who was working hard would catch up with her, or, horror of horrors, _surpass _her as the number one student among the first years.

Hermione thought that such a thing might possibly make her die of shame.

It would be all right if someone were really better than she was when she worked her hardest. That would have only lit a fire in her heart to make her strive to do better, because Hermione thrived in a competitive atmosphere. The worst would have been if someone sped past her because she wasn't doing her very best, wasn't trying her very hardest. That was an embarrassing, loathsome thought. What Hermione always wanted was a fair fight. She didn't care of it was a knock-down, drag-out fight, so long as it was fair. She wanted to be the best, fair and square. If she couldn't count on herself to do her very best, she felt like she was being dishonest, both to herself and to everyone else. It was like being a shill.

Hermione drove herself like the devil was on her heels, and held herself up to the strictest of standards: her own. It was why she worked so hard. It was the way she knew how to live, and she drew great personal pleasure from finding things out. She was a very serious twelve year old, one who made plans, was goal-oriented, and thought a great deal about everything she did. But because of her very honest and direct nature - or rather, it was because she was so very bull-headed - it never occurred to Hermione Granger that this might not be the way that everyone else wanted to live.

And this led to her conflict with Ronald Weasley, who, as far as she could tell, seemed to have decided that he was her natural enemy.

It was in Charms class on Halloween Day when Hermione Granger found herself partnered with Ron Weasley by order of Professor Flitwick.

Why the professor had chosen to pair her with Ron she wasn't entirely sure, though privately she thought it might have had something to do with the disparity in their grades. Well, if Professor Flitwick wanted her to help Ron improve his Charms grade then she was willing to try, so long as he cooperated and actually listened to what she told him.

Elsewhere in the class, Luna ended up partnered with Harry, and Neville with Seamus Finnigan.

With a feather lying innocently on the desk between them, Hermione faced down Ron Weasley, who did not look overjoyed at the prospect of listening to her advice concerning its possible levitation.

Before she began explaining her thoughts on the matter, she quickly flicked her wand in the motion Professor Flitwick had shown them and called out the Levitation Charm's incantation. The feather floated appropriately, and Flitwick called everyone's attention to her adroit handling of the spell on the first try. She flushed a little at the praise from Flitwick, whom she was very fond of.

"_Leviosa __Solvo_," she said clearly, turning the tip of her wand in another brief sequence of movements, which made the feather drift gracefully back to its place on the table between them.

Flitwick winked at her as a silent congratulation on already knowing the counter-charm, and then moved on to observe the students on the other side of the room.

Ron did not seem pleased that Hermione had completed the group exercise before he had had any chance to contribute at all, but Hermione thought this was to be expected, given his unimpressive average in Charms. She placed her elbows on the desk and crossed her arms one over the other as she prepared her short lecture.

"In this instance, the spell is actually a subject-verb compound," she told him matter-of-factly. "Of course it doesn't have to be. The charm we learned last week was a verb-adjective combination. In this case, since the effect we're trying to create is fairly straightforward, the charm is best accomplished as subject-verb," she paused, as if allowing a short period of time for Ron to absorb what she was saying, then added very honestly, "As far as I understand it, at least."

Ron frowned like a tragedy mask and stuck his tongue out, as if this was what he thought about her carefully delivered information.

"The whole point is to make the feather fly, isn't it?" he asked impatiently. "It doesn't matter what's a subject and what's a verb so long as the feather flies. That's all that's important."

Hermione's eyebrows drew together and her brow wrinkled alarmingly as she frowned back at him. "That's a stupid attitude to have," she observed, making her feelings plain and clear, something she was quite good at, "The purpose of this lesson is to teach us something _about _charms, not just to teach us one spell that will help us levitate an inanimate object. That may be useful, but what's much more useful is the knowledge we can take away about how this spell is constructed."

"It doesn't matter how the spell is constructed. First years don't have to worry about all that! All we're supposed to do is make the feather float. That's it. And I'm not here to learn anything from you," Ron argued, his own voice heating up. "You can spend all your time molding in the library if you want, Hermity the Book Hermit, but I'm here to learn some magic."

"_Hermity_?" Hermione repeated, aghast, "Did you really just call me Hermity?"

"Hermity," Ron repeated, more sure of himself now. "You like books more than you like people, which is why you don't have any friends."

"If you had actually paid attention in Charms class instead of doodling in your textbook then maybe you might have made a passing grade on the midterm exam," Hermione shot back, flicking her wand expertly across the desk to point out a stick drawing that Ron had added to his already heavily graffitied Charms textbook.

Ron went very red and scowled, muttering, "I'm not any good at Charms."

"What are you good at then?" Hermione demanded, her dander up, "Transfiguration? Potions? Astronomy? Anything at all? Wasting time. Goofing off. Daydreaming. That's about it. You're certainly not any good on a broom."

And of course, at that moment Hermione realized that she had said too much, but such knowledge only comes after one has already said it.

Ron was livid and purple, but his voice was very low, "Nobody can stand you, you know that, don't you? Everybody talks about you as soon as your back is turned. You're just a stuck-up, self-centered, know-it-all pill and only crazy Loonie Lovegood is even stupid enough to try and talk to you, probably because she's desperate. If you disappeared tomorrow I bet there'd be a party in the Gryffindor Common Room to celebrate."

Stunned, Hermione was very still as Professor Flitwick dismissed class. Ron gathered up his books and stomped off, still angry. As the class cleared out, thankful that the final lesson of the day was over and they could really look forward to the night's party, Harry and Neville both lingered behind. Hermione knew they were watching her as she miserably hunched over her desk, but she didn't care. Eventually, Harry briefly touched Neville's arm and they both exchanged a look, and at last departed.

Luna was the last to remain by her side, patiently waiting until she was ready so they could walk back to Gryffindor Tower together. How much she had heard of Hermione's argument with Ron was uncertain, but likely she hadn't heard much at all, as she had been across the room practicing levitating feathers with Harry Potter.

Of course, Luna could talk to Harry and Neville easily: laugh with them, sit and read with them, eat breakfast with them; Luna was their friend. Not like Hermione, who ignored them pointedly whenever she could, and aggravated everyone, and couldn't make friends no matter how hard she tried.

Professor Flitwick was just approaching the hunched over Hermione Granger, worried that something might be wrong, when she hurriedly excused herself to the toilet, and ran off with her books clutched to her chest, leaving Luna behind so the smaller girl would not see her poorly concealed tears.

* * *

It was really very miserable spending the first official party of one's boarding school life crying alone in an empty bathroom.

When Hermione had first rushed off to the bathroom and locked herself in a stall to cry pitifully to herself, she had entertained pathetic fantasies of Luna, Neville, and Harry storming into the bathroom to tell her how splendid she was and how much she meant to them as a friend. This is often the sort of a thing a girl will think when she has run off to cry alone, paradoxically: that the people she has just run away from ought to find her and comfort her.

Of course they didn't come, possibly because if Neville and Harry had been caught storming into the girls' toilet they probably would have been punished severely, no matter their good intentions. She knew that. She knew she was just being dreadful and stupid and it served her right that no one liked her. Everyone could go to the Halloween party and enjoy themselves because Hermione Granger wasn't there to spoil everything with her wretched personality.

Hermione held a roll of toilet paper pressed between her knees and sat on the closed lid of a toilet, her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them, and cried very wretchedly. She felt as if she ought to just disappear, or otherwise never leave the bathroom again, just hide and cry. A least she wasn't likely to make anyone hate her while hiding in the toilet.

She had been sitting alone and feeling very miserable for perhaps forty minutes when she heard a delicate knock on the door of her stall.

Sniffling and snuffling, she managed to warble out, "Occupied," before her eyes dropped to the small bare feet on the other side of the door.

"I'm glad it is," said Luna peacefully, as if they might have been having a tea party in the dormitory, attended by all her strange stuffed animals, "Because I've brought you some treats. Will you please come out of the toilet?"

Hermione sniffled again. "Are you alone out there?" she asked.

"It's just me and the spiders," Luna affirmed mildly, then paused and explained very gravely, "That was me making a joke, Hermione. There aren't any spiders out there. Well, there might be some very small ones somewhere in here, but there are none that are readily apparent."

While Luna rambled on, Hermione slowly let one foot down and then the other before taking a deep breath and blowing her nose noisily into toilet tissue. Shakily, she undid the latch and pulled open the toilet stall's door to reveal Luna Lovegood on the other side, holding a plate piled high with goodies from the Halloween feast. Luna smiled at her in her strange, sweet way, and politely took no notice of the fact that Hermione's uniform was disheveled from perching on the seat of the toilet like a gargoyle and that her face was still red from crying.

"How did you guess where I was?" Hermione asked, briefly entertaining visions that Luna had felt her heart pangs through the gift of their eternal friendship, and traced them to their source.

"I didn't guess," Luna admitted easily, turning from Hermione to walk towards the line of sinks against the far wall, where there was a worn bench with peeling paint. "I checked each of the bathrooms until I found the one where you were hiding. That's why it took me awhile to find you. But let's not sit by the toilets while we eat."

Hermione, feeling very drained from her long crying jag, obediently followed Luna to the bench and sat down beside her. Luna put the plate of sweets in between the two of them and sat kicking her feet while she munched on a cookie that had been cut in the shape of a grinning jack-o-lantern.

"Had a fight with Ron Weasley," she idly observed, as if she were talking about the weather and not Hermione's dreadful behavior.

"You overheard?" Hermione asked tiredly, slowly pushing around items on the plate until she found at little chocolate bonbon that she felt like eating.

Luna shook her head, indicating that she had not.

"Just assumed, based on his face at dinner," Luna admitted. "Seemed like someone had kicked him in a place where gentlemen don't like to be kicked."

Luna's frankness made Hermione slump against the wall. She really was horrible and it was no wonder that no one liked her.

"Do you think people really talk about me whenever my back is turned?" she asked in a small voice.

As if confirming her worst fears, Luna nodded silently, and Hermione began to sniffle again, feeling the tears coming whether she wanted them to or not.

But Luna wasn't finished.

"They talk about you, they talk about me, they talk about Harry and Neville, they talk about Ron and his broom accident, and how Seamus made a feather explode in class today, people talk about everything," Luna said evenly. "It doesn't really mean anything. People just talk to talk, because they're lonely. People talk to fill up space and time."

"Do you think everyone hates me?" it burst out of Hermione all at once, and she was crying into her sleeves now, messy and unkempt and not very pretty.

"No," said Luna simply, and then tilted her head to the side, "It takes an awful lot for someone to hate you. Maybe some people don't understand you very well yet, but they will, I'm sure of it, so long as you keep trying your best to be yourself. And besides," she added thoughtfully. "Even if everyone else did hate you, I still like you, Hermione. I like you very much."

At Luna's reassurance, Hermione's sniffles subsided again, and she managed to eat another chocolate.

"I do think you ought to apologize to Ron Weasley, though," Luna said easily, still swinging her legs back and forth.

Hermione sputtered on her chocolate. "Why should I?" she demanded mutinously. "He started it, and besides, everything I said was true."

Luna sat silently staring at her with large silver eyes and at last Hermione flushed and looked away.

"Whose fault it is doesn't matter at all," Luna said. "But if you said something to hurt his feelings, then you have to take responsibility for it, whether he reciprocates or not." She paused and then added, "Besides, I think it'll make you feel better."

Hermione frowned and then sighed.

"I told him he wasn't good at anything," she confessed to Luna, and then attempted to defend herself, "Which is true, as far as I can tell."

"And he said?" Luna prompted.

"That I didn't have any friends at all," said Hermione glumly, munching on a pumpkin cookie.

"Except for crazy Loonie Lovegood," Luna supplied, then added, "Educated guess. Which is true, as far as he can tell." She paused again and turned it around, "Or really, it's true based on the limited information he has access to and the position he has decided to adopt." She shook her head when she saw the tears in the corners of Hermione's eyes. "That doesn't mean it's objectively true, just that it appears to be true to Ron Weasley. Just as it appears to you that Ron isn't good at anything."

"But Ron couldn't even think of anything he was good at," Hermione protested, although she knew she was defending a losing position.

"Perhaps Ron doesn't know yet what he's good at," suggested Luna. "Isn't that what most children go to school to learn? What it is they're good at?"

Hermione sighed again.

"You make it really hard to keep disliking Ron," she admitted.

"Because you have a kind heart," Luna said, smiling, "Which is the best sort of heart to have, I think."

* * *

They had eaten perhaps half the plate of treats between them, talking idly, Hermione feeling much better about herself, when Luna wrinkled her nose.

"What a terrible time for one of the toilets to get backed up," she said and covered her small nose with her sleeve.

Hermione soon caught the terrible stench and covered her own nose with both of her hands, getting chocolate on her face in the process.

It was then that the girls both began to hear faint stomping, like someone ridiculously heavy was coming down the corridor outside in a rage. The stomping grew progressively louder and louder and Hermione's eyes widened as she heard doors being rattled violently along the corridor.

Whatever enormous, angry thing was stalking along the corridor outside, it was looking for an open door.

And the door to the girl's bathroom was unlocked. Hermione had left the key in the lock on the outside of the bathroom door because she had been in far too much of a weepy rush when she had entered the bathroom to care overly much about the proper way of doing things.

But then Luna was saying, "Whatever it is, we ought to lock the door," and fishing in her own pockets, from which she produced the key that Hermione had left in the lock.

She was scampering across the floor as quick as her short legs would take her when their own door rattled like in was in danger of being beaten in. Hermione lunged from her position on the bench and grabbed Luna around the middle, tackling her to the ground just as the door gave way to the pounding and the weird, terrible thing crept into the room with them.

Hermione didn't waste time in placid observation of their assailant. Putting her arms around Luna's middle like she was a large doll, Hermione scrambled backwards along the bathroom floor, dragging Luna with her. Luna, although flopping along in Hermione's arms, still had the presence of mind to pull out her wand, the key having been knocked from her hands by Hermione's tackle. She traced a quick pattern in the air and her own small voice rang out clear and strong, despite the confusion and terror of the situation.

"_Locomotor __Mortis__!"_

As Hermione sidled up against the far wall of the bathroom, Luna still clutched to her chest like an overgrown toddler, she was finally able to look at what it was that was pursuing them.

It was an awful thing, with long legs and arms bent almost double, like a dead spider all curled up. It had mottled green skin that looked as rough as tree bark and stringy red hair like thick woolly yarn. It was man-shaped, although much much taller, as its matted red hair brushed the ceiling of the girl's bathroom as it staggered along. It was wearing rags around its middle and had bones hanging from the rope belt at its waist. It had huge bloodshot yellow eyes, long fangs that showed when its mouth was open, and a long red tongue that flopped about.

And it was talking.

"Tasty, tasty," it was singing to itself in a voice that sounded like an old creaking gate, "Glommur smells something tasty. Tasty little girls to eat. So delicious!"

Luna tried hexing the girl-eating monster again, but all she did was slow him down a little, making him drag his feet.

"It's no use," she said, shaking her head as she pressed against Hermione, "He's too big. I can't hit him with a hex hard enough to stop him! Maybe if we both hit him together - "

Hermione bit her lip, and her eyes sought her own wand, which she had abandoned on the bench when she had leapt to rescue Luna. The monster, who was brandishing a long, pointed stick with a sharpened end, was now in between Hermione and her wand.

The monster - Hermione was sure it was a troll, everything from its carrot-like nose to its long pointed ears to its announced penchant for girl-eating made her certain of this identification - lurched forward again. Luna's two hexes had made the troll's knees stiff, but it hadn't stopped him, and still he came. On the tips of his spidery fingers were long, dirty black fingernails.

Luna, huddled against Hermione, finally found her cool resolve beginning to break.

"I don't want to get eaten by a troll," she sobbed into Hermione's arm.

Hermione shoved Luna behind her back as best she could and did what any sensible Gryffindor will do when unarmed and faced with impossible odds.

She called for help.

She yelled and yelled and yelled and yelled until she thought her heart was going to explode, and soon Luna's thin wail joined her shrieking and whooping.

Hermione was still in the middle of a long, desperate howl when the door to the bathroom crashed open again and two dark haired figures in Hogwarts grey appeared.

It was the two boys.

But what were two first year boys going to do against a huge, hungry troll?

Hermione thought, _At __least __now __we__'__ll __all __get __eaten __together__._

But being devoured wasn't apparently on either of the boys' agendas.

Like a wraith, Neville slipped past the troll, running right underneath one of his bent, long fingered hands, never stopping for a moment to consider what might happen to him if the troll seized him. He was between the troll and the two girls in a moment, looking over his shoulder briefly as if to make for certain that they were both still on one piece, and then turning his attention fully to the troll.

"_Protego __Materia_," he shouted, and his entire arm swung easily as he drew the complex pattern in the air, his feet braced hard against the ground.

The troll screamed angrily at him and lunged forward with the crude wooden spear, but Neville's protection spell turned the spear, and it rang off the thin air as if it had hit steel. The force of the blow drove Neville's feet back perhaps a quarter of an inch, but he braced his wand arm with his other arm and still had the presence of mind to reassure them through gritted teeth.

"It's all right. It'll be all right."

Hermione's mind was spinning, because Neville had just used a Shield Charm that likely required at least fifth year mastery. Hermione had learned enough of the lexicon to recognize the kind of spell he cast, even if she couldn't hope to successfully replicate it. What's more, Neville had thrown up the spell with enough strength to turn the head of a spear with an adult troll's full weight behind it.

If Neville found his performance as astounding as Hermione did, he gave no indication of it. He was shouting at Harry, who was still behind the troll, near the door.

"Remember," he was yelling, his arms and feet still braced to hold up his Shield Charm. "Trolls have thick hide that turns most low-powered hexes."

"I remember," Harry bellowed back.

The troll was yelling now too, brandishing his spear angrily, "Glommur doesn't want to eat smelly boys! Glommur wants to eat delicious girls!"

"Glommur isn't going to eat anybody," Harry yelled back at the troll, and then both of his arms were up, his wand tracing a pattern that she didn't recognize while his free hand was busy making movements of its own.

Since he was on the other side of the looming troll, Hermione couldn't follow what he was doing, but her sharp ears caught a single incantation, and then the rapid delivery of no less than seven spells, each signified by the soft swishing sound they caused as they each left the tip of Harry's wand.

The troll staggered, its eyes wide and staring, then slumped, then fell right over on its side, stunned into oblivion. Its long red tongue flopped out on the floor, and it began drooling everywhere.

"Gross," said Neville, wrinkling his nose as he dropped his arms and the Shield Charm fell.

Then he was leaning down and detangling Luna from Hermione's hair, where she had hidden herself in terror that she would be eaten. Scooping her up like she was a quaffle, he idly tossed her over the body of the troll to Harry, who caught her easily and then sat her down on her feet. Luna watched the two of them silently, chewing on one of her fingers.

Hermione was rather too large to be thrown over the body of the troll, so Neville instead offered her a hand and together they crossed over the growing swamp of troll drool.

With all four of them safely together again, Hermione recovered herself suitably to demand, "Harry Potter, what on earth was that?"

How had a first year student cast _seven _spells virtually simultaneously with only one incantation? It was impossible. It was clearly _impossible_.

Harry shrugged ruefully, but what he might have said was cut off by the sudden arrival of several Hogwarts professors, among them Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonogall, and Professor Snape.

"Thank heavens that we got here in time!" said Flitwick, rushing over to check and make sure that the four students he had so recently had in his Charms class were still in one piece.

McGonogall, once she saw that they were not injured, was less given to praises than she was to interrogation. "Would you four like to explain what you're doing here in this bathroom instead of being properly in Gryffindor Tower, as you were instructed?"

For once, Luna had nothing to say. She simply stood chewing on her pinky finger, gripping a handful of Hermione's sweater. Hermione wasn't really sure what to say either. It was all very complicated, and she was not sure that she was ready to tell McGonogall that she had been sulking in the bathroom because Ron Weasley had called her a silly name.

It was Neville who came to the rescue.

"Hermione's stomach was upset," he blurted out.

Harry Potter immediately picked up Neville's thread and agreed, nodding. "Yes, her stomach was upset in class this afternoon, so Luna came to the feast to tell us that she'd be spending the party in the bathroom."

Hermione went very red, but said nothing.

"Well, when we heard that the troll was loose, and that we were to evacuate to our Common Rooms, we realized that no one had told Hermione and Luna that there was a troll loose in the school, so we went to get them ourselves," Neville explained.

"And when we got here, the troll was already on the rampage," Harry added.

"It was going to eat us," Luna piped up at last, and McGonogall turned her eyes to the small blonde girl who lapsed into silence again, chewing on her finger.

"You should have gone to a prefect, or preferably an adult," McGonogall said, her eyebrows drawn together stormily. "Frankly, I'm amazed that you weren't all killed. Four first year students against a troll," she muttered to herself, and then cast her eyes skyward, as if asking for patience.

"We all worked together to do it," Harry volunteered quickly.

Professor Snape, who had been silently watching the scene play out all this time frowned and then answered dryly, "I'm sure you did."

As he spoke, Hermione realized that the bottom of his robe was ragged, and that his bare calf that showed through the tear in his robe was bloody.

_But __the __troll __was __in __here __with __us__, _she wondered to herself. _What __could __have __torn __him __up__?_

Then she realized it so suddenly she jumped.

The dog. The three-headed dog in the forbidden corridor.

While the whole school scrambled around trying to find the troll, Professor Snape had been to see the three-headed dog and had been mauled for his trouble.

When she looked back at his face, she found he was staring very pointedly at her, frowning. Had he realized already? Did he know that she knew what he'd been up to?

But he couldn't. He couldn't unless he already knew that she knew about the dog.

Hermione tried to calm her rapidly beating heart and forced herself to look away from Professor Snape and instead focus her attentions on Professor McGonogall, who was still lecturing them.

"And furthermore," she was saying, "That four first years entertained the idea that they could face a mountain troll on their own within two months of starting school here at Hogwarts is indicative of a hubris that's too great even for Gryffindor. I am docking you each one House Point for your foolishness, and be thankful I am not docking you more."

Professor Flitwick was examining the troll, who was still very much unconscious, and his bright voice piped up as soon as McGonogall had finished, "But for very brilliant and coordinated hexing, I am awarding you four children five House Points apiece. This was practical work worthy of fifth year students, at the very least. I am looking forward to seeing just how far each of you children will go," Flitwick said excitedly, his bright eyes twinkling.

McGonogall did not seem overly pleased that Flitwick had awarded the students she had just reprimanded, but she said nothing.

Hermione smiled awkwardly, because she hadn't done much of anything besides screech and wail, but she couldn't tell Flitwick that or she'd give Harry and Neville away. She didn't like getting praise for something she hadn't done, but she suffered through it, and eventually they were dismissed, and told to head directly to Gryffindor Tower, with no detours.

"I expect you won't need to make any further toilet stops this evening, given the time you've all spent in this bathroom," McGonogall finished crisply, and then shooed them out.

Once out of earshot of the bathroom, Hermione took a deep breath and then began again.

"Harry, what on earth was that?" she demanded.

Harry tried his best to look innocent and boyish and lovable.

"What was what?" he asked.

"You just cast seven Stunning hexes on that troll at once," she blurted out, perhaps a little louder than she had intended to.

"SHHH!" Harry said, clapping a hand over her mouth.

She flushed, but then he sighed and uncovered her mouth.

"I was really hoping that you wouldn't notice," he lamented. "And keep your voice down."

"How could I not have noticed?" she demanded in a fierce whisper.

"Well, a troll was trying to eat you at the time, so I was hoping you might have been distracted enough not to realize what sort of magic I used," Harry defended himself, slightly grumpy.

Neville was there between them in an instant, offering his own palms up like a peacemaker, "Well, there's no use crying over it. Some things can't be avoided. If it was going to be either letting the girls get eaten by a troll or giving something away, it was better to give something away, right?"

"Of course it was," Harry said crossly, shaking his head. "Why even bother asking that question, Navy?"

It was Luna who spoke then carefully, "He asked it so you would have to say it."

Neville looked over his shoulder and smiled gratefully at Luna, who still had a firm grip on Hermione's sweater.

"Some things just can't be helped," he agreed, nodding.

Harry sighed again. "It's a secret. It's our secret, but it isn't just our secret. I'll tell you a little at a time," he said at last. "I can't tell you all at once. And you mustn't tell anyone else. Neither of you," he turned to face the two girls seriously. "On pain of - " he paused, then shrugged, "On pain of something really awful. Do you swear?"

Hermione didn't have to think about it.

"I swear," she said and nodded seriously.

Luna also swore.

Neville said, "You're just going to have to trust us for now. Can you do that?"

Luna nodded and said just what it was that Hermione was thinking.

"Of course," she said. "Because we're friends."

And like a warm hand gently enclosing hers, Hermione knew in her heart that they were, and would never doubt it again.

"You know," Harry said idly to Hermione as they approached the portrait of the Fat Lady, "You've got chocolate all over your face."


End file.
